


Abandoned Puzzle Shack

by SamCyberCat



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Parents, Adopted Children, Aftermath of Violence, Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Clive destroys London for real, Alternate Universe - Evil Layton, Alternate Universe - Layton isn't real, Alternate Universe - PL2 but with Descole instead of Layton, Alternate Universe - Randall has wings, Angst, Angst with an unhappy ending, Attempted Kidnapping, Background Relationships, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Driving, Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Fake Marriage, First Kiss, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Gen Work, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Humor, Innuendo, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, Karaoke, M/M, Murder, OCs not for shipping, OCs to advance the plot, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Prison, Rivals to Lovers, Second Kiss, Suicide, Torture, Trauma, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Violence, Wingfic, Wings, platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 60
Words: 105,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26464576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamCyberCat/pseuds/SamCyberCat
Summary: A selection of my older PL oneshots that I still feel hold up and haven't already reposted here. These are posted in the order they were originally written and cover a variety of characters, friendships and romantic ships ranging from PL1 to PL6. The only edits made to them are fixing grammar errors, etc. All of these were written between 2011 and 2015.
Relationships: Aldus & Hershel Layton, Alphonse Dalston & Angela Ledore, Alphonse Dalston & Henry Ledore, Amelie Chelmey/Inspector Chelmey, Angela Ledore/Henry Ledore, Anton Herzen & Hershel Layton, Arianna Barde & Luke Triton, Badger/Crow (Professor Layton), Bill Hawks & Clive (Professor Layton), Bill Hawks/Levin Jakes, Brenda Triton & Luke Triton, Brenda Triton/Clark Triton, Claire & Brenda Triton, Claire & Clive (Professor Layton), Claire/Dimitri Allen, Claire/Hershel Layton, Clive & Crow (Professor Layton), Clive & Hershel Layton, Clive & Luke Triton, Clive (Professor Layton) & Original Character(s), Clive/Hershel Layton, Constable Barton & Amelie Chelmey, Constable Barton & Inspector Chelmey, Crow & Luke Triton, Crow/Luke Triton, Dimitri Allen & Clive, Dimitri Allen/Hershel Layton, Don Paolo & Flora Reinhold, Don Paolo & Luke Triton, Drake/Henry Ledore, Flora Reinhold & Tony Barde, Flora Reinhold/Arianna Barde, Hershel Layton & Bill Hawks, Hershel Layton & Crow (Professor Layton), Hershel Layton & Don Paolo, Hershel Layton & Flora Reinhold, Hershel Layton & Flora Reinhold & Luke Triton, Hershel Layton & Luke Triton, Hershel Layton/Don Paolo, Janice Quatlane/Melina Whistler, Jean Descole & Loosha (Professor Layton), Jean Descole & Raymond, Jean Descole/Anton Herzen, Katia Anderson & Anton Herzen, Katia Anderson & Clive (Professor Layton), Leonard Bloom & Hannah, Marilyn & Gus (Professor Layton), Randall Ascot & Hershel Layton, Randall Ascot & Rosetta Stone, Randall Ascot/Henry Ledore, Raymond & Nigel (Professor Layton)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Luke & Don Paolo

**Author's Note:**

> I reposted my Ace Attorney oneshots in a single collection recently and decided I'd do the same with my Professor Layton fics. Skipping out multi-chaptered fics (might post them on their own at some point, but no promises), crossover fics and content that I just don't condone anymore.
> 
> The themes of each oneshot will be listed in the chapter titles.
> 
> Also, I apologise for the bad phonetic accents. I really, really do.

"Just you wait 'til the Professah gets 'is 'ands on you! Then you'll be sorry!"

Don Paolo thought of himself as quite a reasonable man. Well, reasonable to the extent that he spent almost every day of his life plotting the demise of a kindly professor who had an insufferable addiction to solving puzzles and helping people. But Layton deserved it and Don Paolo knew that his need for revenge was all Layton's fault. Beyond that, Don Paolo was a reasonable person.

"You're no match for 'im anyway; 'e'll just beat you again like he did the last hundred… no, million times!"

But there comes a point where you can't be reasonable anymore.

It had been a long day. He'd felt that this current plot for revenge had been going quite well, but then Layton had to go and spoil it all again with his ability to somehow turn an old umbrella into an almost practical sword. It hadn't been the first time.

"Can you 'ear me? Hey! I'm talkin' to you, Don Dumbo!"

Once it was clear that his plan wasn't going to work out at all, Don Paolo had decided to fall back on an old favourite of his – kidnapping. It was petty, but he wasn't going to admit defeat just yet. The problem, however, was that he tended to go for Flora because she was such an easy target, but today the first person he'd managed to grab had been…

"Maybe your ears don't work like the rest of your rubbish inventions don't!"

…Luke Triton.

He was starting to realise why he had never kidnapped Luke before.

Putting the boy down and hurriedly making sure he was still tied up, Don Paolo hissed, "Would you be quiet, boy?"

"No way! I ain't gonna listen to someone like you! Why should I listen to you at all?" Luke shouted in response.

"Because you're giving me a headache!" Don Paolo shot back, and then remembered that talking too loud would give their hiding spot away. Lowering his voice, he added, "It's such a pity that I ran out of rope before getting to your mouth."

Luke on the over hand, didn't bother to keep his voice down; "An 'eadache's gonna be the last of your worries when the Professah gets 'ere and sorts you out!"

Before Don Paolo had time to think up a witty comeback to that, he heard the sound of footsteps drawing closer.

"Luke, are you there?" came the concerned voice of Layton.

"Professah!" Luke happily chimed.

Quickly, Don Paolo tried to cover the boy's mouth with his hand, but Luke bit him hard for his troubles. The hand was removed with much swearing, not that it really made a difference, since Layton had heard and made his way over.

"That's not the sort of language a gentleman should be using in any company, let alone a young boy's," commented Layton, watching his adversary shake his hand furiously.

"'e's used all sorts of foul language today, Professah! Don Paolo ain't a gentleman like you," Luke agreed.

Nodding, Layton held out the umbrella towards Don Paolo, face grimly saying that he was against violence but could still hurt him in many different ways using this household object if he didn't get his apprentice back this very moment.

Don Paolo looked from the umbrella to the loud boy who would probably start ranting again if he resisted. It had been a very long day, his plans had ultimately failed, his head was throbbing and even if he won this fight, he didn't think that making off with this particular hostage was a prize that he really wanted.

"You know what? You win, Layton. For this time only," he added that in case the professor would get any ideas about him being off the hook permanently, "Take the boy and go. You're lucky I don't feel like fighting you today!"

With that he was gone. A puff of smoke and his usual theatrical exit, just for the sake of it. When the smoke had died down, Layton and Luke were alone in the room looking confused, to say the least.

"Did you… wear him down somehow, Luke?" Layton asked, walking over to untie him.

Watching the ropes fall down around him, Luke answered, "I don't think so, Professah. I was just tellin' 'im 'ow you are bettah them 'e is and that you'd sort 'im out good and propah."

"Hmm, well… Whatever the reason, I'm glad he won't be causing us anymore trouble today," Layton said thoughtfully.

Watching them leave from the rooftops, Don Paolo growled and clutched his head. That noisy boy's voice had gone right through him…

And he made a resolution right there –

From now on he would always bring enough rope to bind his hostages' mouths shut.


	2. Clive & Bill Hawks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it was all over London was saved but everyone had lost everything. Except for Bill Hawks, who had come out on top. Or had he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL3 by a few months.

With the next election rapidly approaching, things couldn't be going better for Bill Hawks, current Prime Minister of England.

There had been… an incident, let's call it that. A mad man had kidnapped him, fabricating a story of a future that did not actually exist, attempting to destroy London because of his own, radical, beliefs.

That had been the story the world was told. Everyone knew about the kidnapping now and they all knew that, thanks to the brave actions of that Professor Layton, Bill had been saved.

Bill was a noble survivor of a terrible incident.

There was no way he wouldn't win the next election.

There was no way he was in the wrong.

What people didn't know about was why it had all happened in the first place. They would never fathom that Bill had once been a scientist himself, that he had actually not only believed in all of this time travel nonsense, but had also once tried to achieve it. There were no records showing that he had been the one to cause the explosion that had cost so many lives, Bill had seen to it that they were disposed of and anyone who went looking for them was dealt with.

And who even cared about a young lady called Claire, who had died working in that lab because of him?

Layton cared. And Dimitri had cared too.

Poor, foolish Dimitri. So blinded by his love for a woman who saw him as nothing more than a work colleague. It was pitiful thinking back to the way he'd held her lifeless body, whimpering her name. Then it became almost laughable when Dimitri had fallen out of the scientific community because he couldn't handle the grief, while Bill had been thrust to the absolute seat of power – becoming the Prime Minister.

It hadn't surprised him all that much in retrospect that a crazy boy had convinced the equally crazy Dimitri to help him with his schemes.

Oh, the boy had lost his parents in that explosion too, hadn't he?

_As if he wasn't better off!_

Bill sneered. That boy, Clive, had been adopted into such a wealthy family. If Bill had been in his shoes, then he would have counted his blessings that his parents had died if it resulted in that, then he'd have counted them again when the rich old lady passed away to leave all of her money to him. But apparently this wasn't good enough for Clive, who'd still wanted his revenge for what had happened all those years ago.

But he had failed, thanks to Layton and that little team of his.

When it came to the professor, Bill had to admit that he'd been a bit worried at first. Layton was one of the only people left who knew the full story – he could have easily exposed Bill for everything if he had wanted to. But he didn't. He wasn't driven to get revenge for the loss of Claire, like Dimitri had been.

Though, admittedly, he hadn't seemed driven by much at all the last time Bill had heard about him. Not only had he lost his love for the second time, but to top it all off, that annoying little apprentice of his had left the country. The professor had nothing. But he just seemed to smile and get on with it, because that is what a gentleman does.

That 'gentleman' was a fool too, but at least he seemed to pose no threat to Bill.

No one posed a threat to Bill now.

Bill was at the top of his game, at the top of England, and nothing could stop that.

So why… _why_ could he not sleep at night?

Why did he keep getting all of these nightmares about giant robotic creatures crushing London, about laboratories burning to the ground with the possibility that he might not be the one to escape this time, about his heart being hooked up to a machine that would crumble if he dared move from it? Why was he having these dreams now?

He had lived through it all and he was right! They were wrong! And yet…

…His wife was starting to ask questions. It was to be expected, if someone you lived with frequently awoke screaming in the middle of the night, you'd ask questions too. But he couldn't tell her without her finding out about everything he had done.

As the election drew closer, he could not stand it anymore. Freeing up his schedule for one morning, he made a very private visit to the prison. No one who knew of the visit would dare speak about it; he'd make sure of that.

Sitting down in the chair provided, Bill waited for the person he was 'visiting' to be brought forward. Bill suspected that he looked quite haggard at the moment, having been visited by another one of his nightmares before coming, but he looked nothing compared to the person they sat before him.

Clive did not appear to be the person he had done a few months ago. He had lost what others might have called the spark, but Bill preferred to think of as the insanity, from his eyes. He looked like a shell of a man. He sat, not resisting, in the chair he was led to and stared at a spot in the floor without seeing it.

This was when Bill truly saw what he'd done. During the incident, Clive would have looked with him with the utmost hatred and disgust. Bill had taken from Clive everything he'd held dear and Clive had been bitter. But now there was none of that. There was nothing. That made him feel ever so slightly smug inside.

"I thought you'd like to know that I'm tipped to win the next election," he started.

Though he'd expected Clive to make some snide remark about either not caring or that Bill had rigged the voting, he got no response.

So he went on to say, "That is all thanks to you, of course. I'll admit that my policies during my current run may have put me out of favour for a while, but after surviving everything you'd put me through, people think of me as a hero who belongs in this role."

There was still no reaction; it was as if Clive couldn't hear him.

"Your response disappoints me – I thought your whole motive was because you were against my political agenda and wanted me out of power," he pressed.

Nothing.

"You are a terrorist, boy, and now you are locked away like the rat you are," Bill hissed.

Silence.

"Why is it that I'm getting nightmares about this when I am in the right and you are in the wrong? Answer me!" he roared, leaning across the table.

Now he got a response, as small as it might be. Clive lifted his gaze from the floor to stare directly at Bill, his eyes still blank and not taking in what they were looking at.

"I don't feel guilty! You deserved what you got! Your parents were nothing and Claire was worthless, too! If it was up to me you'd be rotting down there with them, but as things stand you'll stay here and never see the light of day again!" he raged, not even realising that he was now on his feet, shaking all over.

"Prime Minister, perhaps you should leave now, this is clearly not good for your health…"

It hadn't been Clive who had spoken, but a simple prison guard who had overseen the whole conversation.

Breathing heavily, Bill dabbed his forehead with a cloth, before answering, "Yes… There is no point debating this… I should go." He then stared at the guard, "You will not speak of this again."

"Of course not, Prime Minister," the guard assured him.

As Bill left, Clive was walked away quietly; broken and not a harm to anyone. That alone should have satisfied Bill, but it did not.

The months came to an end and the result of the election were announced – Bill Hawks was to be the Prime Minister once more.

He was still in control.

Clive was still in prison.

Claire was still dead.

Dimitri was still insane.

Layton was still mourning.

Luke was still gone.

And the nightmares…? They still did not stop.


	3. Brenda & Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brenda had been letting her son go on adventures with Layton for some time before she started to question just how authentic these adventures really were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for request that wanted Layton to not be real and only be a figment of Luke's imagination. Set in an AU and ignores what the canon says about how Brenda & Clark knew Layton. This chapter contains character death.

Brenda should have guessed the truth from 'Emmy's gone now', but she didn't. That was, however, the point when she started to become suspicious about her son's whereabouts when he wasn't at home.

Luke sat opposite her around the kitchen table, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly. She had asked him a few times what had happened to Emmy, but he seemed reluctant to answer her.

"She's… just gone, I don't wanna talk about it," he mumbled, "But it's okay, 'cause there's still me an' the Professah."

"As long as that professor is there to look after you," she said, firmly.

Professor Layton. The one person she could hardly get her son to shut up about. He seemed like such a brilliant man, solving mysteries, teaching archaeology and even making time to running around after Luke. He'd become quite the young gentleman under Layton's influence and she was very proud of him.

"You should invite the Professor around for dinner sometime," she went on.

"Oh, um, no, 'e can't do that, too busy and all…" Luke said, getting to his feet, "Well, I bettah go meet 'im. That office won't clean itself, you know?"

He left the room, also leaving that morning as the last time he talked about Emmy to his mother. But it was far from the last time he talked about his adventures with Layton to her. Soon enough, Emmy had been replaced by another girl called Flora, Brenda quite happy to hear that Luke was making a friend closer to his own age for a change. Then Luke went on to tell her another day that the three of them had gone on a train to fight a seemingly evil man called Anton, but it had all been a hallucination in the end.

She should have got it at hallucination.

It was by then that she started to consult her husband, who was also frequently part of the audience to Luke's tales of the Professor's adventures.

"I don't see why you're worrying so much," Clark assured her, "Layton sounds like a fine man and not someone who'd hurt our son."

"But… doesn't it strike you as odd that we've never actually seen him. We trust this man to look after our son, but we don't really know anymore about him than what Luke has told us," she replied.

"Then why not go meet him for yourself?" said Clark, "We know that he's a lecturer at the Gressenheller University. You could easily arrange to meet up with him there."

Brenda had to admit that this was a good point, so she found some time in her schedule to pay visit to the university and attempt to meet the fabled professor for the first time.

It was when she was shown to the office of Dean Delmona that everything started to fall apart.

"I've come to see Professor Layton, if you could tell me when he has the time to speak with visitors," she began.

"Professor… who?" the Dean asked.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"Professor Layton, he teaches archaeology here, I've heard," she insisted, hoping that he had either just heard her wrong or else wasn't all that familiar with his own staff.

"There is no Professor Layton here, I'm afraid. Certainly not teaching archaeology," he confirmed.

"But… but there has to be!" Brenda shot, shaking with fear and rage enough to cause Delmona to back away from her, "My son goes everywhere with that man and he told me that he works here! There must be a Professor Layton somewhere in this building!"

"I'm very sorry madam, but regardless of what your son has told you, there is not and never has been a Layton teaching at this university. Now if that is all that you wanted, I'll have to ask you to remove yourself from my office," he told her.

On any other day, Brenda would have apologised for her behaviour, but right now the only thing her mind was filled with was that there was no professor, that she had no idea where her son was or who he was with and that he'd been going to these unknown places for quite sometime and she hadn't figured it out.

He didn't need to tell her twice, she was already on her feet and out of the office, ready to search all of London if it came to it. And by the end of the day, it genuinely felt like she had.

Pulling up the car into their drive, Brenda thought she'd make one last check around the area before giving up and calling the police. She trailed over to a bridge close to their street to be greeted by the faint but familiar sound of her son's voice.

"Luke!" she called out.

"I'm down 'ere, Mum!" he shouted back, looking up from the muddy bank at the edge of the river, under the bridge. Around him were abandoned boxes, rubbish and tiny toy figures. She was quivering as she made her way down the steps to him but he kept on talking. "You missed everythin', Mum! The Professah and I went t' the future and we met a future me, only it wasn't really me 'cause-"

He shut up.

His mother had slapped him hard across the face.

"How could you! How could you lie to your parents and run around on your own all this time!" she demanded, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

Luke yelped, "But I 'aven't been on me own, I've been with the professah!"

"He's not real!" Brenda snapped, "I went to that university and they'd never heard of him before!"

Luke looked down, his eyes filling up with tears that he was trying to fight back.

"You're coming home now," concluded Brenda, "We're going to keep an eye on you, so you're never out of our sights again. And you are not to mention the Professor or Flora or Emmy or anyone else you might have made up!"

He nodded mutely. She got no further arguments or even words from him as she led him back home. He simply went to his room and continued to cry when he thought she was out of ear-shot.

It had been harsh of her, but Brenda knew it was the only way to get it into his head that she wouldn't let him get away with this anymore. At the same time, perhaps she was angry at herself for not realising from the start that this man didn't exist and that she'd let her son go out to who knew where for such a long time. Even if there had been a Professor Layton, she should have checked that he was safe for Luke to be around long before now. But she didn't want to think about that.

That night, she went to bed without a word to Clark, who seemed to have grasped the situation without being directly told, only managing to drift off to sleep when she eventually heard the sobbing from Luke's room stop.

Little did she know the lack of tears had not meant that Luke was asleep.

"It ain't fair, Professah… I know that you're real, so why don't they?" he whispered to the space next to his bed. "They just can't see you 'cause they don't look 'ard enough, but you are there. You all are…"

He stopped, listening to the soothing sound of Layton's voice. The professor told Luke that it would all be fine, that he understood, that Luke needn't cry anymore, because that was not what a gentleman did, and most importantly, he told him that they would still be together.

"But mum says I ain't allowed to see you anymore…" Luke said quietly.

Then, the Professor said, Luke would have to choose if he wanted to be with his parents or if he wanted to be with Layton and all of the friends they had made.

It took Luke less than a minute to answer. Why would he want to be with the parents who had stopped him from being with his friends, when he could be with the people who had looked out for him all this time?

Getting to his feet, Luke asked, "'ow can I be with you, Professah?"

Luke just had to follow him. That was the answer. Then he would be with Layton, Flora, Emmy, Don Paolo, Descole, Claire and even Clive, forever.

So Luke, loyal as ever, went over to the window, opened it, and followed Hershel Layton outside.

The two of them would be together always and Luke would never see his parents again.


	4. Clive & Claire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Clive had succeeded and those who tried to stop him had failed? Would the end results really be what he had wanted all along?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt that wanted to see what could happen if Clive had actually been successful in his plans, with lots of angst and character death.

The most terrifying thing about a giant destructive robot rampaging over London is that if no one stops it, then it won't stop on its own. At least not until the city in question has been brought to its knees.

But who decides when that has happened?

Not the government, who were the priority one enemy of all this. Not the army, who had failed to stop it in any attempts they'd made. And certainly not Hershel Layton, who… who had tried…

No, the only person who could decide when it was all over was the man driving it, Clive Dove. Political terrorist. Whatever they would refer to him as now.

He had spent years planning this all. From the moment he'd been old enough to realise that there was a person responsible for his parents' death, Clive had researched as much as he could into the matter, plotted his revenge, put so much time and finance into getting back at the people who were to blame for this damage. Bill Hawks is more dangerous than Clive could ever be, even in his giant robot. That man made all the corrupt decisions in the country, poisoning England from the inside and lying about the people who he'd killed to get to the top.

But he wouldn't be doing any of that anymore, oh no.

The concept of using Bill's heartbeat to keep the robotic contraption running had been mostly dramatic, just one more obstacle for Layton to try to over come if he'd made it to- …no, he'd think about Layton later.

It had put a purposeful limit on the life span of the mobile fortress, however. And Clive knew exactly when that limit would give out. Bill was dying and Clive wouldn't be done with this until he was dead. So, for the final act, he'd driven the contraption to the houses of parliament, the Prime Minister's public stronghold, and then… that was when he'd detonated it.

Bill had died and his rule was crushed under the weight of the robot. His tyranny over England had ended not in luxury or even in political disgrace, but with the painful death that he deserved. The same way that those people had also died painfully by Bill's hands in the past.

It went without saying that Clive had planned his own escape route. He watched the remains of his fortress crumple among the burning debris from the outside. It was at this point that the ringing in his ears started and he turned to face the rest of London.

Fire everywhere. Police sirens. Death.

He knew it would come to this, he'd planned it all out, but somehow his plans seemed to stop at this point.

Why, in all those years of creating an underground city, had he never devoted a single thought to what would come after he'd defeated Bill?

The answer was – Hershel Layton.

He honestly knew that the underground city, the tales of the future, had not been as much for his revenge scheme as it had been an elaborate attempt to fool Layton. Just for the thrill of having made the man believe his lies even for a short while. But… there had been more to it than that.

Clive had invited Layton to his trap because somewhere, deep down, he knew that what he was doing was messed up and wrong. There was still inside of him that little boy who Layton had once saved from the fire by slapping him across his face. He had wanted the professor to stop him again, since he couldn't stop himself.

And maybe he'd not planned further than this because he'd never truly believed that Layton wouldn't have been able to stop him.

But he'd been wrong. Layton had failed. He was dead along with Luke and the girl, Flora, who Clive had kidnapped. And Bill, too. They were all dead.

Realistically, they'd never stood a chance piloting that car up the side of the fortress. Part of Clive had wanted them to get in, but the madness had gripped him and assured him that he'd come too far now to let up. So he'd devoted more time to paying attention to the Laytonmobile and eventually he'd managed to shoot it down. Though he had no idea where it had landed, he knew that Layton and Luke could not have survived.

Once they had been taken out of the picture, there was no point in keeping a hostage, so Flora had been left in the glass chamber to meet the same fate as Bill when it came to the end.

He stood still, taking it all in.

This… was not how you changed a system.

Taking down a corrupt Prime Minister would stop him making choices that affected everyone, but even without Bill, the police sirens still went on – people still worked. Firemen saved those in burning buildings, because it was their duty to do so. The machine did not stop when one man died.

He would not change London this way.

His body shook all over as he realised that.

Tears fell down his face and the child inside him was let loose of from madness, suddenly wishing that Layton had stopped him. That Layton could be here to slap him once more and somehow fix all this. Because killing one man might not change the world, but somehow he truly believed that Layton was the sole person who could fix all this.

It did not come.

Layton was not there to fix anything.

The slap across the face, however, did come.

Clive clutched at his now stinging cheek, looking up into the eyes of a woman filled with fury. A woman who had also not been there on time.

Celeste. No, that wasn't right. Although Clive didn't know the full story behind her, he wasn't fool enough to leave a wrench like this one in the works without keeping some tabs on her. The true identity of this woman was Claire. Somehow, Layton's old girlfriend who had seemingly perished in the first explosion was here right now and she was not going to let him get away with his destruction.

"Is this what you wanted, Clive?" she demanded.

He looked up at her blankly. He couldn't answer.

She was also quivering, but in her case, with rage, as she went on; "Everyone is gone, because of you! London is destroyed and Hershel is… Hershel is…" Not being able to finish that, she changed the sentence to, "All he'd ever done was try to help you!"

"Well he should have tried harder!"

Clive heard that come out of his mouth. Maybe he should have given Layton more of a chance to help him in the first place, but if he was really as great of a person as Clive had believed he was, then he shouldn't have needed any chances. He shouldn't have been able to die so quickly, so gracelessly.

"All he ever did was try for London! Try for everyone! And this is what he got in return. Y-you're sickening…" Claire said, tears streaming down her face.

Something clicked in Clive's mind when he heard that.

"You can't believe it either…" he said quietly, and then added, louder, "You thought he was your saviour as well and that's why you want someone else to blame, because you can't believe he would let himself die so easily!"

"No!" She grabbed his shoulders, shaking him, but they both knew it was true. "No… Hershel was too good for all of this… It was you! It was Bill! It was… was…" Her emotions had become too much for her. She sunk down, using the hands on his shoulders for support.

He felt for some reason the need to comfort her. Since they were both the survivors of this disaster. But after all he'd done, how could he?

"I'll return to my own time soon…" she choked out, never having been given the opportunity to explain this to Layton, "T-to the moment of the explosion… And I will die. And… I'd rather be dead then live knowing that this is the future…"

Clive cried out like a child; "You can't leave! You're the only one left! You're… you're… I need you!"

"You need someone," Claire agreed, pulling away from him, "But you've killed everyone who could have helped you. I'm just sorry that I couldn't get to you in time…"

"Please, stay… We could find their bodies and… and…" he mumbled.

"I have no choice in the matter," she confirmed, "If I could stay... then I would help you, but my time has run out."

She was fading into a golden light; it all seemed so impossible.

"Please, Claire!" he yelled.

"Goodbye, Clive. I hope that your future is not as lost as all of ours are. That you find that child inside of you and save yourself…"

Those were the last words that he heard from her before she disappeared.

The sound of sirens were getting closer now, the police would have realised that getting to the wreckage of the machine was probably their best chance of catching the man responsible. But he couldn't go with them, not yet, so he fled.

It was weeks of living undercover before Clive finally made his choice.

After what had happened, he couldn't go to anyone, as everyone knew his face and knew that he was the man responsible for the murder of so many. But just as he'd expected, London was rebuilding itself. The city was being slowly put back to right and those who were injured were being seen to by those who weren't. They might not have a leader for the moment, but they knew what they all had to do to keep the world going.

Most importantly… the heroes had been buried.

They had found the bodies of neither Layton nor Luke, but graves had been erected for them, along with Flora and Bill. Fittingly, Layton had been buried between Luke and the existing grave of Claire, which Clive was pleased about.

He had waited for the media coverage to die before going to visit. As big a deal as these heroes' deaths had been, they'd been grossly drowned out in the news by that of Bill's and the newspapers were covered with images of his wife crying dramatically. It was sickening, but at least people remembered Layton, Luke and Flora. They did not remember Claire, but Clive did all the same…

Looking over the graves, he made a decision.

He still wasn't ready to go to prison.

Certainly, he belonged there, but he wasn't prepared to face a lengthy trial when he knew of his crimes and most of all he wasn't ready to face Dimitri – who not only knew of his crimes, but had been arrested just before the robot had attacked London. He'd tricked Dimitri - that man had been one of the people that Clive had wanted revenge upon for what had happened in the past. He knew that, more than to get back at Bill, Dimitri had deluded himself into believing that he could build the time machine to save Claire and that was why he'd helped Clive. Dimitri had been so close, but now his chance had been snatched from him forever.

Clive had no idea what sort of man losing his goals would turn Dimitri into and he didn't want to find out.

What he did want was confirmation.

Not only were there never any bodies found for Layton or Luke, but the wreckage of the Laytonmobile hadn't been located either. Although he knew the chance of them being alive was slim, Clive couldn't rest until he was certain.

And after that?

Well, he couldn't stay in London, that was for sure. Possibly he'd leave England, but that all depended on what the fruits of his search for the professor and the apprentice would be. He'd plan for that when he got there.

And so, with a final goodbye to the graves of these four innocents, Clive laid to rest his want for vengeance against the system and began his new search, his new purpose and his new life.


	5. Don Paolo/Layton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don Paolo rages over losing Layton to Claire. No, wait; he's raging over losing Claire to Layton, isn't he? He isn't sure either way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt that wanted Don Paolo to be jealous of Claire for having Layton instead of the other way around. Set soon after Don Paolo came across Layton and Claire together in the flashbacks.

Real men didn't spend hours crying in their room over some girl who they'd just lost to another guy. A guy who was far inferior to him, Don Paolo might add!

What could Layton possibly have that he didn't?

What did Claire see in this guy?

It couldn't be the maturity, because Paul- …sorry, Don Paolo (he was insistent that was going to be his new name from now on) was in the year above Layton. And everyone knew that with age came maturity, right? It definitely couldn't be the hair either, because Layton wore that ugly cap all the time and Don Paolo knew his own hair was fantastic. Even though he had to admit that looking in the mirror showed his hair was a little… different than it had been before the incident.

Stupid Layton!

He banged his fists dramatically on his desk, causing a photo of Claire to go flying. Snatching it up quickly, he took a moment to admire her. Don Paolo had lots of photos of Claire that she probably didn't even know he'd taken. It wasn't stalking if you admired her as much as he did.

Peering over his collection, it suddenly dawned on him that Layton was on almost every photo as well, usually off to the side, since it wasn't him Don Paolo had been attempting to catch on film. He was always smiling, always happy, always well dressed, always charming and always with Claire!

He couldn't stand that.

His eyes bubbled over with tears of rage as he glared down at the various images of the man. Maybe, just maybe, this guy was better looking and more desirable than Don Paolo was. But where did that leave him admitting to something like that?

There was no way he was going to stand back to live in Layton's shadow. Without a doubt, he would prove to this man that he, Don Paolo, was far superior. That he was a lot more worthy of Layton's attention than Cla-

…No, it was the other way around! Where had that thought come from?

So, anyway, he was going to get his revenge to prove to Claire that he was the one she should be paying attention to instead of that charming, handsome, intelligent soon-to-be-professor of hers!

From that day forth, Don Paolo swore to get back at Layton, to prove himself of being a worthwhile opponent. For Claire's sake, of course. There couldn't be any other motive.

He never once stopped to think that on the day Claire's death was reported, amidst the grief he felt for losing her, there was another feeling boiling around inside of him – relief.

Relief that one more obstacle in his way of getting to Layton had been removed.

After all, Don Paolo was a real man. And real men do not think about their feelings towards men they regarded inferior to themselves.


	6. Dimitri & Clive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri loved Claire. Claire loved Hershel. Explaining this to a small child was one of the hardest things Dimitri had ever had to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the flashback period of the third game, a while before the disaster.

Dimitri was the sort of person whose alarm clock never rang.

The reason for that being because he always managed to wake up sometime before the alarm sounded to turn it off. He told himself that it was because he hated the noise, but in truth he'd always been a light sleeper. His mind was too full of all sorts of advancements that could be made to the scientific community for it to ever really shut down enough for him to sleep. Claire said he should try harder or else he'd end up with terrible grey bags around his eyes before he was thirty.

Claire was always saying things like that; she really cared for the well being of those around her.

Claire…

No! He didn't have time to daydream again, he had lots of work to do in the lab today and he had to be up and ready for that.

Pulling himself out of bed, he made his way to the bathroom to get ready. Looking in the mirror he had to accept that Claire was probably right about the bags in his eyes. But no matter, he was more concerned about getting on with the work ahead of him. After washing up and grabbing a quick breakfast of bread and jam that he could eat on the go, Dimitri made his way outside to face the world.

It was a short walk from where he lived to the street that the lab was based at, which he appreciated, since it meant that he could get there sooner and get the early starts he enjoyed so much. Really, when he thought about it, the lab was in such a down-scaled part of the city. That wasn't to say that it was in a rough area, but around the building there were apartments and houses where people lived, which was sort of unusual, considering laboratories tended to be based in more industrial areas. But it didn't seem to matter, as the people who lived in that street just regarded the scientists as part of their everyday lives. They were accepted and went about their business with minimal fuss. Dimitri in particular didn't really bother with those who lived close to the lab too much. With one exception.

"'mitri what are you doing?"

A young boy in a flat-cap came over to him. Dimitri inwardly cringed. It wasn't that he had any problems with the boy, but it would be nice to get to work one day without being stopped by him.

"Same as always, Clive, just heading to work," Dimitri answered calmly.

"Can I come?" asked the little Clive, already walking alongside him, making the answer pretty certainly 'yes'.

"I don't see why not," Dimitri sighed.

Kids weren't, strictly speaking, allowed in the labs. But Clive seemed to almost be a regular fixture there and Claire approved of a young boy taking an interest in science. If Claire was fine with him being around, then so was Dimitri. The only person who vocally objected to it was Bill, who'd complain loudly that it was almost as if the boy never went to school. Admittedly Dimitri had wondered about that as well. When it came to listening to either Bill or Claire, however, he knew whose words he took more seriously, and they weren't Bill's.

Reaching the lab, he pushed his hand against the door, Clive keeping pace next to him, and then came to a sudden stop. His mind froze. No, he couldn't allow himself to be caught off-guard like this; if he did then Claire would know there was something wrong. Clive was already looking up at him curiously for stopping.

The sight before him, in the lobby of the building, was Claire, the co-worker who Dimitri knew that he was very much attracted to. This on its own shouldn't have been a problem, but with her was… um, her boyfriend.

Yes, the reason Dimitri had never once mentioned that he had feelings for her (beyond that of two fellow scientists) to the girl herself was because Claire was already seeing a man called Hershel Layton.

This would have been so much easier if Hershel was the sort of person who was easy to hate, but he wasn't. At all. He was pleasant and kind and genuine and possessed all the traits that made him a really nice guy. Regardless of whether or not Hershel was the perfect man, Dimitri knew in himself that he was the perfect man for Claire, so he'd always kept quiet about his feelings for her to avoid creating a difficult situation.

But right now he was standing in a doorway, mind completely blank and at a loss for what to say that wouldn't seem suspicious. Perhaps if he was lucky, they wouldn't notice him…

"Dimitri, glad to see you made it here on time," Claire said, walking over to him. No such luck there then. As he swallowed a lump in his throat she went on, "I'm here a bit earlier than usual; Hershel gave me a lift before he disappears off to the university. And I was just telling him that he shouldn't be worried about the test he has coming up, there's no way that he won't graduate with flying colours. Oh, I see you picked up Clive on the way here."

He'd just been nodding mutely as she spoke, but that pause seemed to require him to say something.

Clive beat him to it.

"Who's that guy with you?" he asked Claire, looking up at Hershel with confusion.

"You haven't met Hershel yet? Well, he's my boyfriend and pretty soon he's going to become a professor," Claire answered cheerfully.

"You give me too much credit, Claire," Hershel laughed, embarrassed.

Her explanation hadn't cleared up Clive's confusion; "Your boyfriend? But I thought Claire and 'mitri were-"

Dimitri jabbed his hand over Clive's mouth before he could finish, making both Claire and Hershel jump slightly.

"S-sorry, kids do say the strangest things," he said, "Well, um, I'll take him through to the lab while you two say goodbye. Come on, Clive."

He tugged the boy through to the other room, not quite managing to miss Claire's raised eyebrow as he left. Any chance that she'd not noticed anything odd about that conversation were non-existent now.

Once they were through to the other room, Clive launched into questions.

"Why did you stop me from talking? Aren't you and Claire in love? Why would you let another guy steal her?"

"Please, just… be quiet for a moment," Dimitri said, trying to gather his thoughts; "First of all, a woman is not a prize to be won or stolen, you'd do well to remember that for when you're older." That advice went straight over Clive's head, since the boy was still so young that he thought Dimitri and Claire were a family who lived in the lab and did science experiments in their free time. He'd passed Bill off as being some sort of strange pet they kept around out of pity. Without knowing this, Dimitri continued, "Next, well. Um, Claire and I aren't together in that sense. We work together, but Claire has always been dating Hershel."

"But you like her a lot," Clive went on.

Kids were fascinating creatures. You could give them lengthy explanations to explain what they didn't understand, then they'd completely disarm you with a short statement that was completely true.

"You can't always have what you want in life," he replied, awkwardly.

"Why?"

He wasn't going to get out of this one easily.

"Because… sometimes when you like someone, you have to accept that they don't like you like that and they'd rather be with someone else. And if you really care about them, you'll accept that them being happy with someone else is better than them being with you," Dimitri rushed through; hoping he'd left no room for further argument.

"That's just stupid," Clive concluded.

Before Dimitri could risk getting annoyed and embarrassing himself even further, Claire walked through the door.

"Is everything all right in here?" she asked, looking between the two of them with mild concern.

"Y-yes! Everything is fine!" Dimitri said, in a higher tone than he'd wanted, "I was just explaining today's experiments to Clive."

He saw the child looking up at him with eyes asking why Dimitri was obviously lying, but shot him a glance firm enough so that even Clive would know to keep quiet.

"Very well," Claire said, dismissing the oddities that had occurred earlier, "Hershel's just left, so let's get started."

Thankfully for Dimitri, the rest of the day went by without any difficult questions concerning his feelings for Claire. As soon as the experiments started, Clive was too intrigued by the bright lights and small-scale explosions to let his mind be bothered by mundane things such as why a guy didn't tell a girl that he loved her. He giggled away, which caused Claire to laugh too, and this put Dimitri at ease.

He knew in himself that Claire and Hershel might well belong together, but the one thing that Hershel could never quite have was this side of Claire – the scientist. Hershel might possess a great intellect, but it was Dimitri who worked alongside Claire everyday and Dimitri who she'd talk to excitedly when they made progress on the time machine. They understood each other in that sense. They were two minds working towards a goal, throwing ideas off each other and really connecting. And as long as he could have Claire for that short time as a fellow scientist, he was happy.

At the end of the day he bid her farewell, watching as Hershel's car pulled up to give her a lift home, noting Clive's look of anger towards poor Hershel, who had no idea what he'd done to annoy the boy, before Dimitri got ready to walk home himself.

Clive followed him for a short way.

"I still don't understand what you said before," Clive said, yawning, as he was tired from spending a full day in the lab.

"You'll understand when you're older," Dimitri replied.

He'd always hated that phrase, he felt it belittled children to say such things to them, but today he'd learned that maybe its use wasn't so much because the child wouldn't understand as it was that the adult just didn't know how to explain the subject. Clive was a bright boy, maybe he'd work out unrequited love better than Dimitri had one day.

The answer didn't satisfy Clive, but he was too tired to press the subject further.

"Okay, well I'd better get home. See you later, 'mitri," he said, dashing off towards his house.

"Yes, see you later," Dimitri replied, now able to continue his walk home with only his own thoughts for company.

After getting through the door and having a late dinner, he took one last look at himself in the mirror before heading off to bed. The bags under his eyes were still there. He always promised Claire that he'd try to get more sleep, knowing full well that he'd never really keep that promise. His life was too complicated and his mind couldn't get around not only the complexities of the scientific world, but also the even greater complexities of romance that you just couldn't have.

Over the years, he'd come up with the fool proof reasoning that as long as Claire was happy, that he was happy too, but a small boy had completely shattered that illusion with three words – 'That's just stupid'.

He sighed heavily, rolling over and trying to get some forced sleep.

Clive was probably going to be the downfall of him one of these days.

But for now, he could live in the denial for those brief moments of the day where he and Claire could be together.


	7. Katia & Clive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katia learns first-hand just how difficult and rude reporters could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after PL2, but before PL3.

There were times when Clive really loathed being a reporter.

The whole affair was necessary though, as it was the only way he could ever hope to find information upon the explosion that had killed his parents many years earlier, but certain things he had to report were very dull for him.

Early on in his career, one of his employers had noticed that he took an interest in cases regarding Professor Layton. The real reason for this was because Layton was also involved in the explosion and Clive was curious about how much the man knew, but this fact had been confused for a general interest in Layton's adventures. Because of this, Clive was the reporter who was given the job of writing up about almost of the professor's many adventures.

He didn't mind this so much. As long as he kept out of sight enough so that Layton wouldn't see him - since this would spoil Clive's plans regarding the future London - it was quite interesting to write up about the many things that the man discovered.

But some days he just couldn't be bothered with it.

Today was one such day.

He was already so close to completing the future London and setting his plans into motion that he could practically smell it, so any distractions from this work were coming across to him as an annoyance. But it would look suspicious if he turned down work from the newspaper and he didn't want to create any unnecessary complications to mess up his very delicate plan.

So he took the job. This time it wasn't even following Layton, it was just interviewing someone about a previous adventure he'd had, losing this day out even more appeal in Clive's eyes.

Looking through the notes, he summarised that there had been a search for something called the Elysian Box, a murder charge that had turned out to be a false alarm and something to do with the press's current favourite train, the Molentary Express, that had led him to a small village called Dropstone and a girl who had apparently been involved with it all.

Right now, Clive couldn't care less about any of this, but work was work and today's work was requiring him to interview… he checked the notes, yes, Miss Katia Anderson.

Apparently she was the daughter of a man who was descended from the original founders of Dropstone, so she was probably going to have airs and graces to her that Clive didn't really want to have to deal with.

He knocked on the door, telling himself that soon enough he wouldn't have to bother with doing these interviews, only to be greeted by the usual 'you must be the reporter, just through here, please'.

After being shown through to the living room, Clive took a seat across from a lady with short purple hair, who he reasoned must be the person he'd been sent here to talk to.

"So, you're Miss Anderson, right?" he started.

"Please, Katia will do," she replied, smiling warmly.

"I'm afraid that would be most unprofessional, Miss Anderson," Clive answered, which seemed to surprise her slightly. In truth, he'd heard that line too many times before. No one wanted the press to believe they were stuffy or snobby, so most people insisted that they be referred to by their first names, making them come across more casual. Usually he'd let it slide, but Katia had caught him in a bad mood.

"Um, very well then," Katia said, awkwardly, "So, what is it that you want to know?"

What he wanted to know was exactly what Layton knew in regards to those deaths that the police covered up so neatly many years ago, but he doubted this girl had the answers to that.

"I want to know about the Elysian Box and your ties to it. There are many rumours flying around regarding it and I think the world would like to know the truth," he said instead.

"Oh, I don't think I can tell you that. With all due respects, the box is something that is quite private to my family and I doubt grandfather would be all that comfortable with me telling the world about it," replied Katia.

"Then this interview is going to be very short indeed," Clive muttered through gritted teeth. _No matter, find a different angle._ "Well, if you can't talk about the box, then perhaps you can tell me more concerning the Molentary Express. You were travelling on it at the same time as Professor Layton was and there has been a lot of noise about it stopping in a mysterious village, not listed on the train's schedule."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you about that either," she said.

"Is there anything you can tell me about?" Clive replied.

Frowning, Katia stated, "I don't really like your tone, Mr…"

He'd never mentioned his name.

Ignoring her pause for him to provide that name completely, he went on, "My tone is because I came here to find out about the mysteries around the Molentary Express affair and so far you have told me absolutely nothing. If your stance was that whatever happened is to remain private, then you never should have agreed to an interview in the first place. The whole article is going to be one big 'no comment' from the way this is looking."

"Well I'm definitely not telling you anything now!" she yelled, getting to her feet, "I've always heard that reporters were rude, but I had no idea to this extent. Please leave!"

Clive sighed, getting to his feet.

There was no point in pushing this any further, it was clear he'd messed up his chance to find out any information about this story. He'd have to come up with something to tell the higher-ups that didn't sound as far-fetched as the rumours of a vampire being involved, but he could do that without having to talk with this tight-lipped woman anymore than he already had. Perhaps they'd believe that there just wasn't a story here to start with, just a load of rumours? But no, the public always wanted a story, even if it was just fabricated…

As he showed himself out, Katia was still shaking with rage.

"How very, very… ugh!" she shot.

"Is something the matter, my dear Katia?" came the voice of her grandfather, the true origin of all of the mysteries behind the Elysian Box.

"No, just a run-in with an annoying reporter," she replied, turning to face him.

He laughed; "Even in my deluded state, I could have told you they were all like that."

"But… I really thought that someone might care about the truth of your story, Grandfather," she mumbled.

"You care and that's all that matters," Anton answered, "People like reporters are paid to pretend they care. I think you made the right choice by keeping the story to yourself."

"As long as you're sure," said Katia, feeling better for having her grandfather's approval on the subject.

And so she went about her life knowing the true story of the box, the train, the alleged vampire and the professor who had helped, without ever needing to tell it to anyone else. In turn, Clive went back to his own work, dismissing the story as unfounded rumours and then forgetting about it completely.

His complicated adventures involving Hershel Layton were only just beginning, after all.


	8. Anton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton decides to take a more brutal and direct approach to defeating the man he believes has taken Sophia away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt that wanted one of the villains to realise that challenging Layton's brain just doesn't work out for them and to go for the mindless violence approach to try defeating him instead. A slight AU, set just as Layton and Luke are approaching Anton's castle in the second game.

The wind had a deathly chill to it tonight, really not appropriate for old bones at all. Not that the present Duke of Folsense had any idea exactly how old his bones were truly, even Nigel was having trouble remembering what was real and what wasn't these days, but it had been such a long time since Anton had ventured outside of the castle that Nigel was beginning to worry.

"Don't you feel that we should be waiting inside, sir?" Nigel pressed; in that well-meaning way butlers did when trying to suggest that their employer's current decisions were anything less than sound.

"Of course not, Nigel, because then he would get through to the castle to greet me there," Anton calmly replied.

"But sir, the ice just behind us makes it nigh impossible to cross the lake at this time of year. They will never reach you," said Nigel.

Anton turned to look at him, shaking his head in pity; "I would like to have thought that as well. But I've observed this man, this Layton. At first, when I saw him with my dear Sophia, it filled me with rage that this was the person she had left me for, but the more I watched him the more I saw of the sort of man he was. He solves puzzles, just because people ask him to. He willingly works out the things that their brains are too lazy to see for themselves, because he enjoys it. If I wait for Layton to reach me at the castle, then he will undoubtedly find a way across the ice." He paused thoughtfully, and then added, "You know, I had prepared a display of swords. They were all fake, save for one. I was going to challenge him to pick out the real sword, but I see now that there would be no point – because he would simply guess right. So he gets no chances and no sword. I, on the other hand, have a sword."

He removed his blade from the holder, tilting it to admire its sheen.

At this point, Nigel thought to himself that he was a little afraid. Anton was mad, that was for sure, but as a butler, it was his duty to serve, regardless of the sanity of the man he worked for. However, the fact that Anton had been observing Layton without even Nigel realising and from that observation, had come up with the notion of scrapping all the sensibly laid out traps in favour of this direct approach, was worrying.

"Here he is now," came Anton's voice, snapping him out of his thoughts, "And he's brought my dear Sophia with him. Greetings to you, Hershel Layton."

The professor had indeed arrived in the time they had been talking, followed closely by the young boy, Luke, and the purple-haired girl that Anton was so convinced was the Sophia he had pined over for so long.

"You are the current Duke of Folsense, Anton Herzen?" Layton called over from where he stood, looking extremely distrusting of him, "We need to have a few words about-"

"No, Layton, we do not need to have a few words!" Anton snapped, "You come here bringing my beloved as a trophy and expect me to listen to anything you say? No. The only thing we need to do is fight for her!"

"I believe you are very confused," Layton replied.

This was followed closely by, "Watch out, Professah!" from Luke and a scream from Katia, as Anton charged forward, blade held firmly ahead.

The professor just managed to dart of the way, but not without his jacket and shirt being slashed. He winced, gripping at his side. It appeared that the sword had grazed his skin quite deeply, but that wasn't the most important thing right now. Looking up, he saw that Luke and Katia had both moved safely out of the way. Thank goodness, the last thing he wanted was anyone else hurt. That was what was most important to him.

Scattering the little group of three had been exactly what Anton had wanted too, because now he had Layton on his own with no risk of harm coming to Sophia. He'd deal with the boy afterwards.

Not giving Layton a chance to recover, he charged again, this time going for the face. Once more, Layton's reflexes were as fast as his puzzle solving skills, but not fast enough to avoid damage completely. A neat gash was left across his cheek, but he had to just grit his teeth and bear it – seeing as his hand was already clutched firmly to the side that Anton had sliced earlier. It seemed to be producing more blood than was normal for a cut that size. Layton hoped that it wasn't worse than he was assuming it was.

He had to think, there was no time for loitering around like an injured animal waiting for a predator to pick it off slowly. There was also no weapon in sight for him, while his opponent had a weapon. He had to do something to counter that if he was going to stand a chance.

Backing towards the trees, Layton ducked down convincingly enough to fool Anton into believing that he was falling from his injury. That was all that Anton needed to come in for a third try with the sword.

Waiting for just the right moment, the split second before Anton could strike; Layton pulled his free hand out from behind his back, now clutching the first fallen branch he could get hold of. It wasn't very effective against the metal of the sword, but it was effective enough to block the blade from hitting him, as well as giving Anton quite a shock. The branch in question still had many leaves attached to it, which scraped across Anton's face, making him jump back, spitting and growling.

As Anton staggered, he was grabbed from behind, just seeing a flash of blue before his sword was snatched from his barely resisting hands and Luke was running away with it.

"Bring that back, boy!" he yelled, before feeling the prickle of the branch against his back.

Layton held the branch forward, the only weapon he had over Anton's loss of one, muttering, "I don't have any desire to hurt you. We are simply here researching the Elysian Box."

Anton wasn't hearing any of this, spinning around to kick Layton hard in the same side that he'd cut earlier with enough force to knock the man to the floor. Darting over, Anton stamped on the wound, pressing down and admiring the way the blood seeped out of it. The professor cried out in pain, pain that he deserved for stealing Sophia away.

"Grandfather, stop!" Katia called out.

"Grandfather…?" he turned to look at her in disbelief. Why would Sophia refer to him in such a manner?

"I'm not who you think I am," she said, rushing over, "I'm not Sophia, I'm her granddaughter, come here to find you."

"That cannot be… You are a young woman," Anton murmured. She looked exactly the same age as Sophia. There was no way that Sophia could have even had a daughter that age, let alone a granddaughter.

"Fifty years have past since my grandmother left Folsense, to protect my mother from the disease," Katia told him, "Now please, let this man up so we can get him help…"

"No! No, this is a lie!" roared Anton, "You are Sophia and this Layton stole you away from me! I will have my revenge!"

He bore down to throttle Layton, but before he could even get that close, Katia knocked him out of the way, misjudging enough for them to both land on the ice that the fight had driven them so close to. He heard a loud crack and felt the ice give out under the impact, sending both of them drifting down into the lake.

This water was too cold for old bones.

He held his hand out in front of his face as the world drifted past him at a distorted, slow pace. When had his skin become so wrinkled? Why was Sophia's hair so short now?

Why… why hadn't he listened to reason before it was too late?

Turning his head to look at Katia, whose eyes were closed from the impact, he truly saw his granddaughter for the first time and smiled. At least if he was falling to his death, he would finally be with the family he'd lost so long ago.

But fate wasn't finished with him just yet.

He felt a sharp tug on his arm and looked up to see Layton, attempting to pull them out of water, which was now turning a diluted red colour as the blood from Layton's injuries mixed with it.

There was no way the man could do it on his own, so Anton pulled together the last of the strength in his old body, helping to get Katia up to safety, where Luke and an also suddenly older-looking Nigel were waiting to bring them onto dry land.

"Professor, you need t' rest now!" Luke shouted, "If you lose anymore blood, then…"

Layton nodded mutely, already too woozy from the combination of the damage and the chill of the water to make much of a response.

"Why did you do it?" Anton said, feeling how raspy the voice that came from his now-ancient throat was, "After I tried to kill you."

"Because… that is what a gentleman does…" Layton managed, "Now, Luke… it appears Katia has… fallen unconscious from the impact… You need to get her help…"

"You're one t' talk!" Luke shot, already trying to cover the wound on Layton's side with his sweater to stop more blood loss.

"Nigel, please rally the villagers," Anton said quickly.

It was a wonder that any of them came at all, after years of the vampire rumours that Anton had implanted into the village himself, but apparently Layton had indeed helped a lot of people and their desire to help him in return outweighed their fear of the alleged vampire. Soon enough, they were taken to the help they needed, Layton's injuries being dressed properly, Katia seemingly fine once she had woken up, and Anton being dried off, because it was shameful that 'such a poor old man' like him was left soaking wet at this time of year. He'd catch his death of chill, they said.

He had no doubt now that he was an old man, but at the same time, up until he'd fallen into the water, he'd been the youth that he always had been. While be believed much of what Katia had gone on to tell him when she had woken up about what became of Sophia, this fact alone puzzled him.

So he went to ask the one person who was good at figuring things out.

Layton lay in a hospital bed, smiling warmly as Anton entered the room, regardless of what Anton had done to him earlier. Privately, Anton felt a small amount of guilty pride for the amount of pain he'd inflicted upon this man when so many others had failed beforehand due to challenging his knowledge.

"To what do I owe the honour?" Layton asked quietly.

"You must already know," said Anton, "There is still so much that needs to be explained. Fifty years have gone by but I do not remember them passing at all."

"I think you did feel the years go by at least, as you waited so long for the person you loved to return to you," Layton said, "But as for why you did not age, well… I had a theory about that. Your falling into the lake was oddly what confirmed it."

"Do tell," Anton pressed.

So Layton continued; "The mines your family owns. Gold wasn't the only thing that came from them. They've been producing hallucinogenic gas that clouded the judgements of both yourself and your butler, Nigel. As unbelievable as this may seem, the shock of the ice cold water was what knocked you to your senses from the gas. I believe the gas was powerful enough to affect all of us, as although I didn't realise it until we were being escorted back to the village, both Luke and Nigel, neither of whom affected by the water, still saw you as a young man. Of course, now the effect has worn off, but I gather it was quite a shock for Nigel to discover he was actually much older than he always thought that he was."

"He's not the only one," added Anton, laughing bitterly.

All this time he had been under the influence of a gas that made him feel that he was still a young man, his own stubbornness preventing him from leaving to find out the truth. Stopping him from being with his Sophia before she passed away…

"It's too late for me now," he sighed.

"Nonsense; you still have a charming granddaughter who came to find you," Layton replied, "I'm sure you'll both want to get to know one another now this is all over."

"Of course," said Anton, "And I must take action to prevent that gas from affecting anyone further. But before I do, there is one thing I must know. Has anyone else ever hurt you as much as I did?"

Layton laughed, and then clutched at his side where the stitches still stung.

"You probably won't be surprised to hear this, but I've made a lot of enemies in my time. However, your brutal approach was indeed effective," he said, leaving it up to Anton to decide if that meant he'd hurt Layton more than anyone else had done or not.

"Yes, well I'm glad to have come so close to beating you, honestly," Anton said, clearly reading what he wanted between the lines, "Now I shall let you rest. I have much to catch up on with my family and people."

"Good luck then," Layton hummed, lying back to rest.

Anton walked away from the hospital ward.

These old bones of his might not be fit for the cold weather, but he could still put them to good use when to came to battles, it would seem.


	9. Evil!Layton AU (+Clive)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon being captured by Layton's forces, Clive expected death. He did not at all expect what he got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in a version the fantasy AU that Clive created about the Evil Layton.
> 
> Also, head's up that this one's shipping.

You got caught and you died. If you were lucky.

There were so many rebels who'd stood up against the tyrant that ruled London. Once upon a time they'd just been political activists, protesting against the unfair changes that had been made to the system. Clive missed those days. But at some point, the first stone had been thrown – London's benevolent ruler had showed exactly what he thought of those who disagreed with him. And the people who weren't afraid to stand up for what they believed in responded with the same violence they had been shown, turning from protesters into freedom fighters.

But so many more people were too scared to act at all and as time went on, more people who did fight were caught and killed. There were less people to stand against the new laws, less people to stand against Hershel Layton.

Most of the rebels never even got to see him in person; they were killed in the silence of the streets. Once again, Clive wished he was one of those people.

He knew that he'd never be let die so easily though, not after all the trouble he'd caused over the years.

Because Clive knew too much.

He knew about the explosion, he knew about the labs, he knew about Bill Hawks, he knew about Dimitri's plans for the time machine and how Layton had provided him with the resources that he needed, because they were both obsessed with the possibility of saving that one girl. That much knowledge had been dangerous and Clive prided himself on being a thorn in Layton's side for so long by making sure others knew why their ruler was doing what he did.

That all ended today, however, as the man who had once been known as a kindly professor entered the cell where Clive was chained.

"Well now, it appears that you are not as quick as you once were, Clive, for my men to have cornered you at last," he sneered, looking down on the shorter man.

"It took them long enough to catch me," Clive answered, glaring.

"You have proven… troublesome," agreed Layton, "Quite so. But that will end today."

"So just kill me now and get it over with!" shot Clive.

Layton laughed at this; "Kill you? You must be stupid if you think I'm going to let you off so easily."

"I should have guessed that you'd drag this out," Clive replied, hoping very hard that he could remain neutral enough to not give this man any satisfaction from watching the suffering he undoubtedly had planned for him, "And by the way, that monocle does not suit you at all."

He felt Layton's hand slap the side of his face. It stung instantly. Apparently a line had been crossed with that comment.

"You know nothing of style, boy," sighed Layton, straightening the monocle that covered one of his eyes.

"Yeah, I bet Dimitri likes it just fine," Clive mocked, still glaring up at him.

"Dimitri is a foolish man who thinks of nothing but his time machine and saving his beloved. He is a tool, Clive, one that I will dispose of when I'm finished using him," Layton informed.

Two things went through Clive's mind upon hearing this – firstly the shock that Layton apparently didn't care as much about the time machine as Dimitri did and secondly for him to even be telling Clive this that it must mean he wasn't going to keep Clive around long enough for Dimitri to ever find out that Layton was using him.

"So if not for her, then what-"

Clive was cut off mid-sentence by Layton's hand trailing up the side of his face. The touch felt deceptively warm and tender, but he knew there was nothing at all tender about this monster. He could have been fooled, however, as Layton moved closer to him, their faces almost touching.

_"Professor…"_

That word came out by mistake and Clive instantly regretted saying it, as Layton broke into a sinister grin.

"It's been such a long time since anyone's called me that. You use it in such an affectionate manner, just like Luke did. Just like everyone did, really," Layton said, eyes not breaking contact with Clive's. It was unnerving to say the least.

"Believe me, I'd never call you anything affectionate on purpose!" Clive snapped.

The hand that had been stroking his face now gripped it tightly, fingers digging painfully into his skin.

"I will teach you manners if I must, Clive," whispered Layton.

Then the gap between them was broken, Layton leaning in just that tiny bit further to press his lips against Clive's and despite everything it felt… so… _good._ After a moment, the other man's tongue entered his mouth and Clive did nothing to stop that. He wanted to think it was because of the shock, ignoring his own moaning and longing as it went on. The moment was sadly ended as Layton pulled back enough to bite at Clive's lip, the stinging sensation jolting him back to reality.

Moving away from him and wiping the saliva from his mouth, Layton commented, "You're so easy."

"I am not!" yelled Clive, struggling against the chains.

"The evidence says otherwise," purred Layton, breaking the eye contact just for a moment to glance down before looking back across to him.

"You're sick! You're a twisted man and I want you just to get it over with and dispose of me," Clive replied.

"Are you not listening at all, boy? I said just before that I don't intend to kill you and that's something I'm sticking to. If you meet my conditions," said Layton, chuckling low in his throat.

"Conditions? I'd never do anything you want!"

Was this insane man planning to keep Clive alive as a pet out of some sort of sick pleasure? That was the last thing that he wanted. He'd rather be killed outright then let Layton get any sort of satisfaction out of keeping him living.

"It would be considered polite for you to hear my terms before making your decision," said Layton, examining his nails as he spoke.

"Very well then, what could you possibly want from me?" asked Clive, knowing that any further arguing would just prolong his fate.

"You've been so problematic over the years," replied Layton, "If it wasn't for you, then the people might have trusted me more, or at least less of them would know of what I'm up to, at any rate. My forces have been damaged because of you and you've led any who oppose my rule quite well, if I do say so myself."

"I want to know what you want from me, not my life story," Clive growled.

"Always direct. Then I shall skip to the point," said Layton, "To kill such a cunning mind as yours would be wasteful on my part. And so, I've decided to request that you work for me exclusively."

"Are you mad? I'd never work for you! I've been trying to knock you off your pedestal for years!" Clive spat. The whole notion was so absurd that it was nearly laughable.

Layton tutted, replying, "I'm not as blind as you think. Once Bill Hawks was defeated, you were initially as happy as everyone else. You knew what he'd done and I daresay that if I hadn't acted, then you'd have done something equally as drastic on your own to stop that man."

That was true, but he wasn't going to let Layton know it.

"Your actions after replacing Bill Hawks was what lost any respect I might have had for you," Clive informed.

"Then it's such a shame we're not on the same page," said Layton, "Because you will be kept here and tortured appropriately until you break and agree to my terms."

"I didn't say that-"

"You've said enough for one day, I tire of your voice," dismissed Layton, turning to leave. As his shadow was framed against the door he clicked his fingers and two guards came through.

Clive soon found out what the guards were there for.

The days that followed contained such torture that he wished he could die, but these people were under commands to keep him alive. As those days turned into weeks, Clive just wanted to not wake up one morning, to end it all out of spite, but he never got that lucky. Not that he felt any of the rebels who were killed outright were lucky anymore – in an attempt to break his spirit, the guards provided him with news of how badly the rebels were doing without a leader.

They had little idea of how well that worked.

But their employer knew perfectly, timing it exactly right for his second visit to Clive's cell.

"Good day, my boy, I do hope that my guards have treated you well," Layton cheerfully commented as he walked over.

He didn't even get a response; Clive was too weak to acknowledge him after everything that had happened in the past few weeks.

"You must be so tired," Layton continued, "I hope you're in a position to reconsider my offer."

The old Clive would have spat in his face and Layton knew it, but this one was so broken that all he could do was look up, eyes too dry to produce the tears that they wanted to.

"All you'd have to do is say the word and the torture will stop. You will become one of my own, answering to my orders and living in the comfort that all of my closest followers do," reminded Layton.

_And when I stop being useful you'll kill me just like you plan on doing with Dimitri,_ Clive's mind added.

"So, my dear Clive, what will your answer be? Will you join my rule?" Layton requested.

He moved closer and for the second time Clive felt the lips of this man against his own. He was evil and he was wrong but his kiss was so good. It was the only affection that anyone had shown Clive in such a long time, even before he'd been caught, and just for this moment, _he wanted it._

Working with Layton was the ultimate sin. If the professor wasn't doing all this to save Claire, if his madness wasn't born from love, then what was he even doing it for? Clive had no idea what this dangerous creature was doing and what he'd even want from him.

There was no way that he could do this; he could never betray those who believed in him. He'd just have to go back to living with this seemingly eternal torture.

Layton pulled away from the kiss, Clive not wanting their lips to part. But when they did, the professor wanted an answer.

"So will you belong to me, Clive?" Layton repeated.

There was really only one answer.

_"Yes."_


	10. Clive & Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clive had somehow been roped into teaching Luke how to drive and was instantly regretting that choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set several years post-PL3 in an AU where Clive gets out of prison pretty quickly, I guess.

Clive had to force himself to remove his fingers from their grip on the dashboard after their last emergency stop.

He had never expected to get out of prison, so when his appeal went through and he had, through some miracle, been cleared of his crimes, he was as surprised as anyone else to be free again. However, his recent venture into teaching Luke how to drive was almost enough to make him wish that he was safely behind prison bars again. Almost.

Luke had returned to England when he was old enough to live alone and once there, had expressed an interest in learning to drive. The professor was very busy with university lately, so Clive had stepped up and offered to teach Luke for a while. Once he'd got the boy behind the wheel, however, he instantly regretted that decision.

"Am I doin' okay?" Luke asked, looking over at him with the same cheerfulness that someone with a wrecking ball might have when asking the same question.

"I don't know, why don't you ask that old lady who had to dive onto the pavement a few miles back?" replied Clive, breathing out heavily.

"Granny Riddleton is tough, don't you worry about 'er," Luke assured him, but then he added, "If this is too much for you though, I could always just wait and ask the Professah to teach me…"

"No, no, it's fine! You will get it," Clive said quickly, determined not to give up on his new student just yet. Because if Luke went back to Layton, that meant that Clive had failed in teaching him and he wasn't sure that he could live with that. "Just let's find the biting point again and get a move on. Slowly."

Looking back at the road ahead, Luke readied the car once more and moved off, thankfully listening to Clive's request of going slowly for the moment.

"I 'ave got one question though," Luke said conversationally, "Is the Professah all right with us borrowin' 'is car?"

"Yeah, sure he is," Clive lied.

He thought of it as insurance. If Layton was willing to let Clive put his life at risk by teaching this apparently deranged boy how to drive, then Clive was willing to put the Laytonmobile at risk as compensation.

Speaking of deranged, it appeared that Luke was speeding up, while going downhill.

"You might want to apply a bit of brake here," Clive suggested.

"Don't like usin' the brakes unless I 'ave to," Luke informed.

"I'd noticed."

At that moment, another car pulled out of a side road, crossing their path dead ahead.

"Brakes! You have to use the brakes now!" Clive yelled.

The Laytonmobile was brought to a quick and shuddering halt as the other vehicle past. A horn was sounded and Clive thought that he could hear the driver yelling at them, but the passing car was gone before he could register what they had been shouting.

"What a mad man! Pullin' out like that when I 'ad the right of way!" Luke yelled.

"You're not… technically wrong," Clive had to admit, "But please don't develop road rage just yet. When driving, you need to be aware that other people will make mistakes and act accordingly, so that you don't cause accidents because of their errors."

"I'm calm, really I am," said Luke, starting up again and driving on, even without Clive saying for him to do so.

"That's good to hear," Clive replied, although he wasn't sure it was entirely true.

As the day went on, Luke progressively became the most dangerous thing on London's roads since Clive himself had taken a mechanical fortress through the city. The difference being that, back then, Clive had been trying to cause damage and in Luke's case this was hopefully all accidental.

Pulling the car into Layton's driveway, Clive definitely thought that investing in a vehicle that had dual steering might not be a bad idea. Maybe that's what stopped real driving instructors from feeling on edge all the time when at the mercy of more sinister learners.

"I'm getting' bettah though, aren't I?" Luke asked, as he got out of the car.

"I don't think you're ready to put in for your test just yet," was the only reply Clive had to that.


	11. Flora/Arianna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arianna had spent a long time waiting for Luke to come back for her and during that time she'd discovered someone new to spend her days with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after PL3.

One of the things that Arianna had been forced to accept about Luke was that, since leaving Misthallery, his life had become that of Layton's apprentice.

He rarely remembered to call home and when he did, it was to relay stories of the many adventures he'd had alongside Layton and Emmy, then later alongside Layton and Flora. It sounded like he had a lot of fun, solving mysteries and defeating the villains. But part of her wished that maybe, for once, he could stop running around with Layton and remember her.

For the first part of that at least, she got her wish.

It hadn't made her situation better, however.

Luke was moving to America. At long last, Clark had managed to set up a new career there and wanted to transfer his whole family overseas. So that meant no more running around with the Professor for Luke. She imagined that he would be devastated about that.

But even as he left, all of Luke's farewell thoughts were on Layton. He barely spent a moment saying goodbye to his old friends from Misthallery and Arianna quite resented that. She reasoned with herself, though, that she was his childhood sweetheart, so perhaps when he was older and wiser, he'd come back, having realised how much he'd missed her.

Or at least… she assumed she was his childhood sweetheart anyway. She had kissed him on the cheek that one time, which must have counted for something, right?

It was reason enough to keep Arianna going. And a blind hope that maybe she would see him again was what caused her to make brief visits to Layton's home whenever she was travelling into London anyway. After all, if anyone was going to get news of Luke coming back to England first, it would be Layton.

During one of these visits, she had rung the doorbell, but for once was not greeted by Layton answering it.

"Oh, I'm very sorry, but the Professor isn't here right now."

Arianna found herself being regarded by the puzzled face of Flora Reinhold. The two of them had met briefly in the past when Layton and Luke had visited Misthallery along with the girl. Arianna knew Flora's name and that she was Layton's adopted daughter, but that was about the limit of her knowledge on her.

"It's no matter, I'd just popped by to see if he'd had any word about Luke, but if he's not here, then I'll try another time," Arianna replied.

"No, please do come in," Flora insisted, stepping aside, "He's only got just more than an hour left at the university, so he shouldn't be too long."

In the face of such a forward plea, Arianna found that she couldn't refuse. So she followed Flora through to the living room, looking around in polite interest.

"If you take a seat, I'll have some scones through in a moment," said Flora.

Sitting down on one of the chairs, Arianna said, "You really don't have to trouble yourself."

"Nonsense, I had a batch of scones fresh out the oven anyway," assured Flora, disappearing off into the kitchen for a moment before returning with a tray that had been haphazardly stacked with scones. She might have meant it literally about them being fresh out of the oven, judging by the thick cloud of steam that was radiating off them.

"Take however many you like," said Flora, placing the tray on the table and then taking a seat between them, "I always make lots, but the Professor rarely eats them these days."

"That's odd, I can't imagine an English gentleman like him refusing a good scone," mused Arianna, picking the closest one off the tray and taking a bite out of it.

She then understood his refusal entirely.

Maybe a gentleman couldn't refuse a good scone, but it might be more polite to decline something that tasted as foul as this. Her body instantly demanded that she spit out this offending invader and start coughing like a loon, but she was in enough control to not do that – instead chewing as quickly as she possibly could in order to swallow it and get the taste out of her mouth. Sadly, that taste seemed to linger long after the swallowing part.

"Is everything all right, Miss Barde?" Flora asked.

"F-fine, everything is just fine," spluttered Arianna, trying to ignore the thought that she still had the rest of the scone to go, "And please, just call me Arianna, it seems too formal otherwise."

"Very well, Arianna. And you can just call me Flora," chimed the other girl. Arianna didn't have the heart to tell her that she'd intended to do that anyway, so she just let Flora go on talking in the hope that she wouldn't notice the scones weren't being eaten; "It is very nice to have some female company," Flora was saying, "Or… any company at all, for that matter."

"Don't you have the Professor here with you most of the time?" enquired Arianna.

"You'd think that wouldn't you?" answered Flora, her expression suddenly turning into one of annoyance, "But he often goes off to solve mysteries and leaves me behind. It was even worse when Luke was around."

"I understand exactly what you mean," agreed Arianna, finding that she did, "Back when we were younger, Luke and I used to be as close as two people could be, but after he became the Professor's apprentice, it was as if he forgot that I existed…"

She left out the part about how she'd shut herself off from Luke for a long time after her father died, that was neither here nor there in her argument right now, as far as she was concerned.

"Really?" Flora said, blinking over at her.

"Of course! He and I, we were… um… we were, well… ch-childhood sw- …um, he was my boyfriend. Almost…" Arianna mumbled.

"A girlfriend? Luke?" Flora replied, trying not to laugh.

"What's so funny?" demanded Arianna.

"I'm sorry, really I am, but it's very hard to picture Luke having a girlfriend. The only things her cares about are adventures and puzzles. If it wasn't for the Professor teaching him how to be a gentleman, I imagine that he'd still think girls have cooties," said Flora.

"Then he… never mentioned me…?" Arianna murmured.

"Oh, he certainly mentioned you!" Flora said quickly, noting the disheartened look on Arianna's face, "When we visited Misthallery, he told me a lot about you and your brother Tony, as well as how you helped the Professor save the Golden Garden from that wicked Descole."

"But that's just it… He always just thinks about the Professor now," Arianna sniffed, "And I'm only there as part of a story about how the Professor saved the day again…"

"Don't let it get you down," Flora soothed, leaning over to pat Arianna's hand, "Sometimes the boys do tend to forget we're there, but you just have to make sure that you're always with them, so that they can't ignore you. It worked for me."

"Luke's in another country, though..." reminded Arianna.

"Oh… um, in that case, if he really is your boyfriend, then you've got to believe that he'll come back for you," Flora tried.

"Well, about that… You see, he's not exactly my boyfriend, we just-"

Thankfully, Arianna was saved from that awkward conversation by the sound of the front door opening.

"I'm home, Flora," called the pleasant voice of Hershel Layton.

"It's good to see you, Professor. We have a guest here," said Flora, getting up from her seat to greet him.

Layton looked around the door, smiling when he caught sight of Arianna; "What a nice surprise, Arianna. Though I think I know why you're here and sadly, I can tell you that there's no news of Luke coming back. I hope you didn't wait too long for that disappointment."

"Not at all, it was very nice to be able to talk with Flora," replied Arianna.

"That's good to hear. She wasn't making you eat those scones, was she?" asked Layton, eyeing the plate with caution.

"Professor! Arianna told me something rather shocking," Flora cut in, not giving them a chance to talk further about the food.

"What's that, my dear?" said Layton.

The pit of Arianna's stomach dropped as she thought of Flora telling Layton about what she'd just said regarding being Luke's girlfriend. It would be so embarrassing if Layton, who had witnessed the cheek kiss, denied that in front of one of Luke's London friends.

"That Luke has not been a true gentleman," Flora finished.

"What? Did I… say that?" Arianna said, confused.

"You said that he's been ignoring you and that is simply not what a gentleman does. Leaving a lady behind is the height of bad manners," confirmed Flora, looking at Layton pointedly. This was probably more personal than just Arianna's situation with Luke.

Layton laughed; "Well, that is most rude of Luke. I'll be sure to mention it in my next letter to him."

Whether he did or didn't do that was something that Arianna never found out, as the Professor didn't mention the matter again. However, this would be far from the last time she'd turn up at the Layton residence, though in future perhaps not just to check upon the whereabouts of Luke. Because as she was leaving that day, she made a promise.

"I hope that Luke comes back to see you soon," Flora said, walking Arianna to the door after a few more hours of conversation (but thankfully no scones) between the two of them and the Professor.

"Yes, well, I think that I should come here more to check," Arianna replied.

"Will you really?" Flora squeaked, taking hold of Arianna's hands. As a person, Flora was certainly more cheerful and forward than Arianna, but Arianna found that she didn't mind that.

"I'll come here often for news about Luke and to see you," Arianna promised her.

Flora nodded; "That would be wonderful! I really don't get much company, so it would be nice to talk with another girl from time to time."

And that was how it started.

Arianna would visit their home once a week, then more frequently as time went on, to talk with Flora. At first mostly about Luke, but once they'd gotten to know each other, the subjects changed to many different topics. Her visits became just part of Arianna's routine and something she looked forward to.

Eventually, Layton told the girls that he'd been offered to go on a trip to America to visit Luke and the first thing on Arianna's mind hadn't been to ask if she could go with him, but instead to ask if Flora could stay with her while he was gone.

Layton had agreed to this, of course, and Arianna took great delight in showing Flora around her own house. She wasn't one to brag, but the Barde estate was quite large and in a much better condition now that it wasn't overgrown with the thorn bushes that had sprouted from neglect, like it was a few years ago. Secretly, she hoped that Flora would be impressed.

And Flora was impressed, though not for the same reasons that Arianna had expected. Indeed Flora thought that the estate was grand, but more because it reminded her of her old home back in St. Mystere than because she had never experienced anything like it before.

This got Arianna curious, as she'd never thought much about where Flora must have lived before coming to stay with Layton. So the two girls agreed that sometime after the Professor returned from America, they would go to St. Mystere, so that Arianna could see the Reinhold manor and talk with the curious robotic citizens there firsthand.

Firstly, however, they had a week in Misthallery to spend, and spend it they did. There was plenty to show Flora, from the market where the Black Ravens ran their business, to Bucky's sometimes unbelievable boat service, to the Golden Garden and the monument that had been made in honour of Loosha. Flora was the perfect audience, reacting with delight to everything that she was shown.

As the week went on, Tony would tease Arianna a little about how close she was to Flora and the two girls would spit their tongues out at him, telling him that he wouldn't get any of Flora's homemade cooking if he kept that attitude up.

After Tony had tasted Flora's homemade cooking, he kept the charade up mostly out of self defence.

But all good things must come to an end, as did Flora's visit to Misthallery. Not that it would be the last time they'd go there or even the end of the travels the two girls had together. They did indeed go to St. Mystere too and many more places as the years went on. Once they were older, they didn't even need Layton to drive them around anymore, independence had settled in enough for them to go visit places on their own.

It was a lot longer down the road, sometime after Arianna's sixteenth birthday, that she received the most surprising news of all.

During one of her regular visits to Layton's house, Flora had run outside and hugged her tightly. This wasn't so much an unusual greeting, but something about the joy of the hug was even more so than usual.

"Oh, Arianna, I've got some simply wonderful news!" Flora chimed, pulling away to take her by the hand and tug her towards the door.

"What is it?" Arianna asked, trying to keep pace with her.

"It's Luke! He's come back!" Flora said, looking back at her and smiling.

"Luke…"

"'ey, Arianna, long time no see," Luke called, watching them from the door.

The years had certainly transformed Luke from a somewhat stocky young boy into a gangly, but not at all unpleasant to look at, teenager. His smile was warm and approachable, just like it had been when they were kids. Unlike when they were kids, however, Arianna didn't feel butterflies dancing in her stomach when she looked at him. This surprised her more than anyone.

"Nice to see you again," she agreed, nodding politely as her and Flora reached the door.

Shifting where he stood, Luke said, "The Professah tells me that you an' Flora 'ave become good friends while I've been away."

"Yes, we have," answered Arianna.

This was harder than Luke had expected it to be. He'd honestly only brought up the topic to make conversation, but Arianna wasn't giving him much to go on.

"I'm goin' out t' 'elp the Professah with this new mystery that's been troublin' 'im soon, but if you 'ave some free time later-"

"That's all right; Flora and I have already made plans for later. We won't keep you," said Arianna, holding Flora's hand tightly and pushing the two of them past Luke and into the house. If Flora had any queries about these imaginary plans, she did not mention them and Luke was smart enough not to follow them up to Flora's room.

He made do with gawking after the closed door.

"I don't get it, I thought she'd be 'appy t' see me…" he mumbled.

Chuckling a little, Layton, who had witnessed the conversation from the living room door, answered, "Perhaps if you'd made a better effort to keep in contact with her over the years, you wouldn't have drifted so much. Ladies are a very complicated matter, by boy, you cannot just choose to give them attention only when you see fit."

"But 'er and me… we… weren't we, um, weren't we… somethin'?" Luke stammered, staring up at him in almost a plea for help.

"Perhaps at one time you were," agreed Layton, who had been present to watch the whole situation between Arianna and Flora unfold over the years, "But people do change as time goes on. Not everyone stays with their childhood sweethearts for the rest of their lives."

"We weren't anythin' mushy like that!" Luke gasped, horrified, "But I guess we 'ave probably both changed a lot… Don't 'ave much to talk with her about, you know? Mostly I just want t' talk about puzzles an' mysteries an' stuff like that."

"All of which seem like fine subjects to me," Layton laughed, messing up his apprentice's hair, "But some people just aren't all that interested in puzzles. Why not remains a mystery even to me, I must admit."

"Girls are strange, Professah," Luke commented.

"That's not how a gentleman would phrase that sentence, Luke," replied Layton.

Up in Flora's room, an explanation was being demanded out of Arianna.

"I thought Luke was your beloved and that you really wanted to see him," Flora said, as Arianna wiped tears from her cheek.

"Th-that's what I thought too… But I was just so… so cross with him! How dare he come back after so many years of not a word!" Arianna coughed.

"Luke may have… lacked tact in his approach, but I'm sure that he'll be more attentive to you now that he's back in England," Flora tried, "You've waited so long for him, after all."

"And waiting so long has just proved that I've really not been waiting after all," scoffed Arianna. When Flora looked confused about that, she continued, "I haven't been coming here just for news about Luke all this time. I've been coming here because of you! Because we're friends and I want to spend time going places with you, not waiting around for Luke. Maybe… maybe I could go places with Luke too, but I don't want to spend all day everyday playing second fiddle to the Professor while they solve mysteries. You don't deserve to either! We can… spend time with each other, like we have been doing. Do you see?"

She clutched Flora's hands, begging that the other girl would understand.

"I do see," answered Flora, with a nod, "And you're right… Living your life to the fullest is better than waiting around for them to come back to you. I… always wanted them to accept me, to not leave me behind when they go on adventures, but maybe I don't need to run after them."

"You don't, you're a great person," Arianna said, smiling across at her through the tears, still clutching her hand, "And maybe they'll see that when you're gone. But if not, then it isn't your loss. You've got… you've got me to appreciate what a charming individual you are, Flora."

"Arianna…"

She watched Flora's cheeks colour a slightly deeper shade of pink. There was a sudden sort of feeling between them that had never been there before. It was a mixture of awkward embarrassment and those same butterflies that Arianna once had when she looked at Luke. Apparently they were finding a new target to flutter in her stomach for.

The two let go of their hands, trying to dispel the tension by giggling.

"Well…" Arianna sighed.

"Well," echoed Flora, "We should probably go talk to the boys now, shouldn't we?"

"If we have the time," replied Arianna, who wasn't ready to forgive Luke's negligence just yet, "But I wasn't lying about having plans later. If you'd do me the honour, Miss Reinhold, I'd like for us to have lunch together."

"Miss Barde, how very kind of you to offer," Flora laughed, "Very well, I'll clear up my schedule and give you the whole afternoon."

They linked hands again, this time feeling more comfortable about it, despite the nerves. Then the two of them left the room together. For they were no longer two little girls, but two young ladies who wanted to live life to the fullest.

And neither of them was going to wait around for any man anymore.


	12. Evil!Layton AU (+Clive, Crow & Luke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton decides to play a little game with his enemies to teach them about the consequences of both their own decisions and trusting those of others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another evil!Layton AU. This one is based on kids' game show that used to air in the UK during the late eighties and early nineties called "Knightmare". The premise of the show is that you get a group of kids and one of them is blindfolded while being made to walk through a fantasy world, and the other kids have to direct them, solving puzzles to stop them from being killed. There is also a host who seems to slightly guide them, but (at least to start with) kind of trolls them more than anything else when they get stuff wrong. Seemed like a good opportunity for some evil Layton AU.

It is foolish to stop running.

You don't try any tactics, you don't dart into some side-street to try to lose him so you can stop and take a break. Because he's so much better at tactics than you, as much as you're loathe admitting to that. So you just keep running until your sides ache and you can't go on anymore.

Clive knew that and he assumed the other two did as well, but that had been something very wrong to assume. He cursed himself, since when it came down to it, he was the only adult between them, but there had been no time to give out instructions, just to run himself and hope that the others ran too.

He'd had to stop in the end though, clutching at his side and breathing heavily. Thankfully, he wasn't alone. The equally exhausted panting from just behind him caused him to look up and see that Crow had made it with him. Clive didn't know a lot about Crow, he knew that Crow had been a friend of Luke's from Misthallery and that they were both working to meet the same goal, but that was all he really knew about him.

Seeing that the boy had made it here as well sent a wave of relief through Clive that was quickly drowned out by the sharp realisation that the third member of their party was not with them.

Oh god. Not Luke.

"Such a pity isn't it?" purred a deceptively pleasant voice. Clive whirled around to see that Hershel Layton was stood already in front of them, regarding the two of them from behind his monocle. Of course he was. That man was always several steps ahead of everyone. Layton went on, "Luke had trusted you both to look after him and yet you flee, abandoning him at the first sight of danger."

"What have you done with him!" Crow snapped, before Clive could get a word in.

"How very assuming of you to accuse me, Crow. If it wasn't what I expect of you, then I'd be hurt by that," Layton sighed, "But please, be a well-mannered young boy and let me discuss this matter with an adult."

"You've got some nerve! You never used to be so-"

Clive put a hand on Crow's shoulder.

"It might be best to humour him, if Luke is at risk," he said, in what he hoped was a soothing tone. To Layton, he added, "But Crow did ask exactly what I would have done - tell us what you've done with Luke."

"My apprentice is back at home, where he belongs," Layton answered indifferently.

Through gritted teeth, Clive commented, "So you've kidnapped him?"

"What a vile word. I cannot help that you took him from me in the first place and implanted lies into his head about how I'm bad for London's situation, can I?" enquired Layton.

There was no point in arguing with him over this, as Clive knew that their Prime Minister could twist even the most blatant truths around using his well-trained deceptions.

"How do we get him back?" Clive asked instead.

"Always straight to business with you, Clive. I quite admire that quality, even if it is within a terrorist. Very well, assuming that I was to allow you to take Luke away from me once more, there is one way in which I might be persuaded to let you have him back," Layton informed, looking over at the two of them.

"You don't need to pause, I know you're going to go on anyway," growled Clive.

Though the comment momentarily threw him, Clive was right and Layton did indeed go on; "Very well, if you're certain. I have indeed decided to be fairer on your rebels than most would be. Because while stood in my Pagoda, musing how to bring peace back to the good city of London from the threat you propose, I came to a realisation. Our battles are always very indirect. We tackle one another using puzzles and other methods to tease the brain and deter progress without actually making very much of that progress ourselves. Which brings me to the conclusion that you cannot handle direct confrontation."

"I'll show you direct confrontation!" snapped Crow, and Clive had to tighten the grip on his shoulder to stop him marching towards the enemy. That would have been an unwise move indeed.

"By all mean, if you'd like to do so then I'm waiting," offered Layton, outstretching his arms.

"What makes you think that you're any better at it than us?" Crow demanded, thankfully having the sense to not take him up on that offer.

"Because I just did try to deal with you directly, young man, and the result was that the two of you ended up scrambling away like frightened rabbits, while I made off with the prize and still had time spare to get ahead of you," answered Layton.

He was right, Clive had to admit that. If Layton did plan to go for the rebellion leaders as directly as he was dealing with the three of them, instead of toying with them using complicated puzzles, then it was unlikely they'd stand a chance.

"So what now?" said Clive, looking up at him.

"Now, I give you a chance that you do not deserve. Because I am a sporting man and feel that it's unfair to take you down so easily just because my intellect worked out the nature of the problem before yours did," answered Layton.

"You're toying with us, then," Clive summarised.

"That depends on whether you want to play my little game, Clive," Layton replied.

"Sure, I'll bite. If it means getting Luke back," said Clive, "Just tell me what to do."

"Very well. You'll be pleased to know that I have been considerate in regards to your preference for indirect assaults on my government using your trickery," Layton began, "In the same manner of which I am always just as thrilled to provide a good puzzle as I am to receive one myself. So that shall be the nature of our game. Please, walk with me if you will."

The two boys hesitated and exchanged glances as Layton began to retreat into another street. This was definitely a trap that they shouldn't fall into. But it was also the only chance they had at helping Luke. Their course of action was simple.

Darting after Layton, they saw him walk into a small shop and followed. On the inside, their enemy was stood regarding a flickering green monitor with interest. He had this kind of technology on his side; they knew that, but to have a screen already waiting for them on the next street over? Was he really that well-prepared that he knew exactly where they were going to collapse?

But it was the image on the screen that was the most distracting element of it all. Luke was stood in the centre of a dark room, not bound in any way, but with a bizarre helmet covering the whole of his face. It was metallic and looked heavy, but it was also locked from the back in a way that made it impossible to remove without someone else taking it off for you. The helmet restricted his vision and even though he could have only been there for a short time, Luke was quivering with fear.

"What is that?" Clive questioned, ignoring an audible gasp of disgust from Crow.

"That is what enables Luke to play our little game," Layton said, "Because, you see, you're going to help him solve a few puzzles."

"Luke, if you can hear me then you need to move. You're not tied down and there's no one in the room to restrain you," Clive started to say instantly.

"Clive…?"

Luke looked up for a moment, clearly having heard the instructions. He didn't wait for further explanation, heading to take a step forwards.

"Stop!" Clive and Crow yelled in unison.

It was fortunate that they did, because the urgency in their voices had made Luke freeze in his step, as a large section of the floor before him fell away to the floor below.

"See what happens when you don't play by the rules," commented Layton.

"Fine, tell us your rules," spat Crow.

Turning to Clive, still determined to insult Crow by treating him like a child, Layton said, "As I was about to explain before your little outburst, Luke needs to solve a few puzzles if he wants to leave the Towering Pagoda. However, as you can see, he is at the disadvantage that he lacks the use of his eyes. On the other hand, you are both in perfect possession of yours and can see everything going on around Luke. So I would recommend that you guide him wisely if you wish to be reunited with him."

"All right, so we just need to solve a few puzzles," said Clive, as if this was no big deal. As if he didn't know exactly how difficult the sorts of puzzles Layton could come up with were and he wasn't terrified of Luke potentially dying should they make a mistake in guiding him.

"So if he stands on one of the grey tiles, it'll fall away, right?" said Crow, looking across at Layton.

The former Professor looked away, smiling to himself.

"You're not going to get any help from him," Clive said, though they both knew that anyway, "I'm willing to bet that you're right though. The first puzzle probably won't be a difficult one to get us into the spirit of things." It was the puzzles closer to the exit that he was worried about. "Luke, if you can still hear me, then I want you to turn to the right and take a step forward- …No, a smaller step than that!"

Layton watched them closely, not interrupting as the two of them used this first room, which was really no puzzle at all, as an excuse to educate the best ways to get Luke to move on their commands. After some false starts, they seemed to find that telling Luke the directions to go in the manner of a compass and just saying to him when to stop before touching a grey tile was far more effective and less time-consuming than saying something like, 'take two big steps to the right' would have been. He was quite impressed.

"You're almost at the end now, but I'm going to need you to jump pretty far just ahead of you, as there's only grey tiles around the door," Clive said calmly, "Think you can do that?"

"'Course I can," Luke replied, sounding more confident than he felt.

Luke jumped and cleared the tiles that surrounded the door. There was no camera beyond that, so they couldn't see what became of him beyond hearing a slightly painful sounding 'thud', but he had made it.

Clive and Crow breathed a sigh of relief.

"Congratulations on your first success," Layton said, jolting their attention back to him, "I'm sure within no time, you will be back together with your friend once more. Though I'm equally certain you'll understand that my Pagoda is quite a tall building, so I have been considerate enough to grant some of my men to guide Luke down the stairs between each room. Because it would be so very bothersome for you to have to instruct him to walk down each flight."

"If you were so considerate, you'd guide him right out of there without putting him in danger," Crow pointed out.

"Now, now," said Layton, addressing Crow directly for the first time, "As one businessman to another, Mr. Head of the Black Ravens, I'm sure we both understand the dangers of cutting the prices you offer a consumer too low."

"So are we your customers or your victims?" Clive asked.

"That would be for you to choose. But look, Luke has now reached the second room and is in need of instruction to stop himself from being damaged in anyway," Layton replied, glancing across at the screen.

Sure enough, Luke was stood at the far door of another room. Around the middle of the room lay the grey tile that had fallen from above. It had shattered what looked like an over-grown chess king. Upon closer inspection, the whole room was laid out like a giant chessboard.

"How unfortunate that our king has been damaged due to unforeseen circumstances," sighed Layton, though Clive very much doubted that the man hadn't planned it this way, "It would appear that Luke will have to take his place in this battle of wits."

"You want us to play chess, using Luke?" Clive clarified.

"And the floor isn't going to cave in if he steps in the wrong place?" checked Crow.

"I have been assured that the floor of this room doesn't have the same unfortunate design flaws that the one above has," Layton said.

"Just a simple game of chess then, nothing dangerous. No one ever got hurt in a game of chess," Crow muttered.

"Would you like to try losing the game and finding out?" questioned Layton, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"No, we wouldn't," replied Clive, "We're just going to get through this as quickly as possible if it's all the same with you."

"Any method in which you choose to go about this is fine by me, Clive. This is your game, after all," agreed Layton.

Only it wasn't in the slightest. It was Layton's game. And Clive would never for a moment be fool enough to think otherwise. He told Luke where to stand on the board and instructed him to move as he saw fit to play, while between turns, a series of masked individuals moved the opposing pieces, as well as the pieces belonging to them that Luke could not move himself. All the while Layton stayed quiet and watched intently, but Clive had no doubt that he was somehow instructing the movement of the game and accordingly making it all too easy for them.

Could he have beaten Layton in an actual game of chess? Clive doubted it. But the madman wanted to toy with them some more, so he would not crush them so soon into the game.

Eventually, Luke had been guided to defeat the opposing king and only then did the masked helpers see fit to guide him through the door that led to the floor below. The screen briefly flickered off and was replaced by another room, this one containing a simple table that had a series of items on it – a key, a bunch of grapes, a mirror, a wrench and bottle containing a transparent liquid. All seemingly random and meaningless.

"There is yet another rule to the game," Layton informed.

"Why am I not surprised?" muttered Crow.

"To prevent Luke from becoming greedy," Layton went on, talking over Crow, "You can only take one item from the table."

"All right, then what?" Clive said.

Raising an eyebrow, as if Clive had just asked something extremely obvious, Layton answered, "He leaves the room, of course."

"Just like that? No tricks or puzzles?"

"There is one thing," Layton added, and inwardly Clive thought 'oh, here we go…', as the former Professor went on to say, "But it is more of an aid than a hindrance. I have for you a small riddle that might help you decide which of the objects is best to take, if you'd like to hear it."

"We'll listen," agreed Clive, not saying whether he would heed the words or not.

"Very well then, this is the simple play on words that might aid you in your decision – a man toils, day in, day out on a project that he has set his very existence upon. An aim he has to bring back life to a poor young girl who now has none. But though he works until he is old and grey, without this item his project will not see the end of the day," Layton hummed, blocking out his own mental images of Dimitri toiling away on the production of the time machine that may save his beloved Claire.

"So something that a man needs for his project…" mused Clive.

"It's going to be a trick question," Crow cut in, "We're supposed to think that it's something to help him build, but actually he needs food or drink to stop him from dying."

That did seem like the sort of answer their Prime Minister would go for, but at the same time Clive couldn't shake the feeling that it was still too simple.

"The man could last longer without food than he could water," Clive commented, "But I don't trust whatever's in that bottle to be water. Knowing him," he glanced at Layton, "it could equally be something poisonous."

"What does it matter anyway? None of those things will help. Let's just take the key and get going. That's clearly the object that's going to be useful," Crow said.

"No, I think we should heed Layton's words," said Clive. Even if he was leading them into a trap, Clive trusted that he wouldn't really attempt to hurt them until the last room, "So let's assume that the grapes will keep the man going until the end of the day. Luke, I want you to reach around on the table just slightly to your left side until you feel a bunch of grapes. When you've got them, put them into your satchel, since I see that our game's master has been kind enough to let you keep it."

"Are you sure, Clive? You sure I shouldn't get the key?" Luke pressed.

"I'm sure. A key is no good to us if the door is on the other side of town, now just take the grapes and move onto the next room," replied Clive firmly.

Though he was hesitant and clearly didn't agree with the logic, Luke felt around the table until he'd grasped the grapes and shoved them into the bag at his side. From the way that they fell in, it was safe to assume that anything else that might have been in the bag had been emptied out of it before the game began. Which was a pity in the event that Luke could have been carrying something that might have helped him.

"What very wise riddle solving skills you have there, to not go for the obvious answer and instead choosing something that will aid your man," commented Layton.

"Just give us the next puzzle," Clive replied, grimly.

And so he did. And another puzzle too. And another one after that. Until the boys were questioning not only how many rooms were in the Towering Pagoda, but also how many creative riddles Layton could come up with using a room and a person with a blindfold. That thought was far more than a little unsettling.

Eventually, however, they reached the bottom of the Pagoda and what was seemingly the last room.

"You have succeeded in your tasks, I commend you," said Layton, clapping quietly.

"Is that it? No more rooms?" checked Clive.

"This is indeed the entrance. I should almost feel a little cautious that I've revealed so much of the inner structure of my home to you, but then I genuinely didn't expect you to get this far," answered Layton.

"So we win!" gasped Crow, "Luke's going to get out of there and run back to where it's safe and when he gets there, he's going to eat those stupid grapes just to spite you!"

"Assuming that he can get the helmet off," Layton hummed.

"Luke, the door is directly in front of you, I want you to walk ahead and pull the handle," Clive cut in, still not feeling as if they were out of the woods just yet.

The two boys watched as Luke walked over to the door then tried to pull the handle down. It didn't budge. The pits of their stomachs dropped.

"The door's stuck!" Luke called.

"I knew we should have taken the key!" shot Crow, glaring at Clive.

"Oh no, the key would have nothing to do with our man toiling away on his project, it's something quite separate, I can assure you," corrected Layton, making them both look over at him, "But now a wrench, a wrench would be something he could make as much use of building a time machine as Luke could fixing the jammed bolts on that door. One could say that, in both cases, you wouldn't get very far on those projects without one."

"But the wrench was the trick answer! It was the obvious option that you're supposed to think of instead of the other choice!" Clive yelled at him.

"Nevertheless, it was the _right_ answer…" said Layton, examining his nails.

"Then 'ow do I get out?" whimpered Luke.

"You can't. You made the wrong choice in the middle of the game and it has affected your ending," replied Layton.

Crow insisted, "We'll just have Luke go back to the other room and get the- …Hey! What are you doing!"

The two of them looked on in horror as a couple of guards came out from the door from the upper part of the building, the same guards that had been guiding Luke down the stairs. They took hold of him, walking away with Luke's struggling, screaming form.

"You're a sick bas-"

Crow had launched himself towards their opponent, but having anticipated, and through some sick satisfaction almost looked forward to, this reaction, Layton had enough time to catch hold of his arm, twisting him around to hold him in place against the wall.

"Children always react so pathetically when they don't win at games. Wouldn't you say, Clive?" sighed Layton.

"There are still two of us," Clive reminded, taking a more cautious step towards the fray than Crow had done.

"Do you really think that after all of that, I'd not be prepared to handle you?" sneered Layton, as several more of his followers stepped through from the back room of the shop.

Clive didn't responded, glaring off to the side in disgust at himself for having fallen into this trap.

As he handed Crow off to one of the men, Layton commented, "There was one thing you did get right in all of that riddling however, Clive. That key would be of no use if the door was on the other side of town. Keeping that in mind, it's such a pity that you don't have it here, where it's needed. You might have had a chance to run away if you did."

"You're twisted, you know that?" spat Clive, not resisting as the guards took hold of him.

"Perhaps I am, but this just goes to show that even in your indirect approach to combat, I still win. And with you, falls three more pawns of the terrorists. Bind them and take them away."

Layton watched as the struggling Crow and the defeated Clive were escorted from the building to be held along with Luke. He had no doubt that the rebellion would try and fail to get them back, leaving the three of them as yet another example of what happened to those who opposed his rule.

If he'd wanted to, Layton could have taken the lot of them down long ago, and certainly defeated these mere children a lot earlier in the day without all the theatrics.

But then what would he have spent his Saturday afternoon on?

He did so live for the little things that could keep him entertained.


	13. Layton/Dimitri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton had eventually decided to see Dimitri in prison, but Dimitri was not about to make their discussions easy for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL3.

The Professor could compare his life to the sudden halt of a constant downpour. One of those days where the rain is coming down outside, hammering against your window, but you kind of get used to hearing the noise. Until it stops. And you hear the silence left by the absence of it more than you ever heard the noise in the first place.

He had so much happen to him in such a short space of time. He was thrust into a plot of political revenge, orchestrated by a boy who he'd met briefly many years ago, the mysteries surrounding the death of his former girlfriend that he'd long since buried were finally shoved into the light and drawn to a conclusion, and, to top it all off, he'd had to stop a giant robot from destroying London.

This was all a day in the life of Hershel Layton.

It was bizarre and stressful, but he was used to taking the strain. When it all stopped, that was when he heard the silence. Suddenly there was no danger; no mystery surrounding what had happened ten years ago, and the young companion who constantly went with him on his adventures had left him.

Which wasn't to say there was now nothing for him to do anymore. He was still kept busy by his job as an Archaeology lecturer, but now everything he did in life just seemed to be going about the motions for the sake of doing it.

During this quiet period, he visited Clive quite frequently in prison, because he felt responsible to do so. However, in all the times he had visited the prison, he had never once checked on Dimitri. Perhaps he was avoiding the other man. There certainly was a very big reason why he felt awkward talking to him, but a lack of communication because of reasons that Layton just assumed stopped Dimitri from wanting to talk to him was negligent on Layton's part. He should at least have tried to talk to the man. Because that was what sort of person Layton was.

That thought ran through his head when he'd happened to see Dimitri in passing one day while talking to Clive. Once he was finished with that engagement, Layton asked one of the guards if it would be possible to see Dimitri himself.

The guard had reacted with surprise, in the same way they had when Layton first came to visit Clive, but complied and went to inform Dimitri of his visitor.

The odds were that Dimitri was as surprised to see Layton as the guard had been about the request in the first place, but when led through to his seat, Dimitri showed no signs of this. He simply looked as tired and uninterested, as he always had done.

After a moment of silence, Layton knew that it was going to be down to him to break the ice.

"Greetings, Dimitri," he started.

"Hershel." Dimitri nodded, but that was all. There was no point in making a false claim that he found it nice to see Layton after all this time. Since Layton could see through obvious lies easily.

"I thought that it was only fair for us to talk," Layton went on, determined not to be put off, "A lot has happened to affect us both due to… the incident, but I feel there is definitely more that remains unsaid. It's only fair to give us both a chance to get what we want to say to each other out in the op-"

"There is nothing that needs to be said, Hershel, only facts," Dimitri droned, "We both loved Claire, Claire loved you and now she is dead due to my mistakes. This is all that either of us needs to know about the other."

"You are hasty to say that the mistakes were yours alone. Bill Hawks was the one who pushed her into the experiment," Layton insisted.

"Don't think that I don't know that detail. Don't for a moment think that I didn't spend every waking moment after the explosion trying as hard as I could to bring her back. You might believe that kidnapping those scientists was wrong, but when Clive feigned that he could help me save Claire, nothing was going to stop me from trying. I never stopped thinking about what happened, Hershel." He spat out Layton's name, his knuckles going white from gripping at the surface of the table. Layton was thankful that there was a wall of glass between them.

"Of course not, forgive my error in judgement," Layton replied, remaining as calm as he always tried to be, "All that I meant was that there are so many presumptions about each other on both of our parts and I would like to have a chance to bury them."

"Or else prove them right," growled Dimitri.

"That is also a possibility," Layton agreed.

Shifting awkwardly in his chair, Dimitri said, "I don't honestly have much to say to you. Our connection was solely through Claire. She was my work colleague and you were her boyfriend, but I never begrudged you for her feelings."

"Even when you tried to defeat me in the Towering Pagoda?" Layton pressed.

"I was trying to reason with you," Dimitri corrected, "I thought that the man who loved Claire as a partner would want to save her at least as much as I did."

Layton replied, "My opinion on the matter has not changed at all from the answer I gave you back there. Do not think you are the only one who thought often of Claire. If there had been anything I could have done to change what happened at the time, then I would have done anything to do it. But I would never be deluded to believe that the past can be changed or that people living in the present should be harmed to attempt to do that."

"Perhaps some of us are that deluded," Dimitri muttered.

"Your efforts proved to not be in vain," Layton agreed, "Because for a time, Claire did see more of life then she ever should have done. And without her, a young man may have died. And I…"

"You would never had got to properly say goodbye to her," Dimitri finished.

"…Yes, that is true. I thank you for that," replied Layton.

"If that' all you want-"

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry that you weren't able to say your own farewells to her."

"Oh, don't be," Dimitri dismissed, "I was never any good at telling her how I felt. Do you think I'd be in this situation if I had been?"

"Probably not," Layton answered, "But that doesn't change the fact that I feel sympathy for what you went through. And what you may still be going through. Do not think that you're the only one missing her."

"I don't think that starting a 'We Miss Claire' club with you and Don Paolo would be a good idea," commented Dimitri.

"No, but I do think that spending time together may well be. All I am offering you is friendship, Dimitri," Layton told him.

"I don't want your friendship," Dimitri muttered, getting up from the chair, "And if that's all, then I'll bid you goodbye."

He walked from the room, presumably to be led back to his cell by one of the guards. Layton made no attempt to stop him, simply watching the man leave with a mixture of pity and regret.

The next time Layton came to the prison to visit Clive; however, he made another attempt to speak with Dimitri when he was done. Just as before, Dimitri was led through to the same room they had previously spoken to one another in and looked upon Layton with the same disinterest that he had done the first time. As if he expected this to be a repeat of the same.

Layton also worried about this being a repeat of last time.

"Don't think I'm surprised to see you again, Hershel," Dimitri began, "You'd be amazed at how few visitors I get."

"I'm glad that you made the time to see me, regardless," said Layton, nodding.

Dimitri frowned, stating, "Was there something you didn't say last time? If so then get it off your chest quickly."

"There are many things that weren't said last time. I feel that we still have a lot to talk about," replied Layton.

"Not this again. Look, I don't have anything to discuss with you," Dimitri insisted.

"Regardless, I'm going to keep coming here until you refuse to see me anymore," said Layton.

"You're stubborn," sighed Dimitri, "And if that's the case, then I'm refusing to see you right now."

And so, their second discussion ended the same way as the first, with Dimitri walking from the room without a backwards glance. Leaving Layton even more determined to talk with this man.

The third time he went, it appeared that Clive had got wind of Layton's attempts to speak with Dimitri somehow. He'd said that Layton probably shouldn't just try to talk with Dimitri after seeing him, because who would want to be left with the distinct impression that they were an afterthought?

When Layton had pressed that he wasn't sure how to talk with Dimitri, Clive had simply shrugged unhelpfully and said that they both shared an interest in Claire, didn't they?

Following Clive's advice, Layton did not try to speak with Dimitri that day, but instead came on another day to specifically see the man. As he had hoped, Dimitri hadn't refused to meet with him, regardless of the apparent disinterest, and came through to the room without complaint.

"You haven't been to see Clive," Dimitri observed.

"I'm not here for Clive today. Today I just want to talk to you," Layton replied.

"You're going to have a short visit then," snorted Dimitri.

"If you storm out again, then yes," Layton agreed.

"Stop giving me reasons to, if you want to keep me here," threatened Dimitri.

"I feel that it isn't so much that I give you reasons as it is that you look for them," Layton said. And he could see that Dimitri made to get up from the chair, but stopped himself. There was no way that he could walk out without proving Layton right.

"Forgive me for not wanting to talk with you," Dimitri said, trying to keep calm, "I may have said that I don't begrudge you for being the man Claire chose, but that doesn't mean I have to like you or want to spend time with you."

"Have I given you much call to dislike me?" Layton asked.

Dimitri stared across at him. He wanted to hurt this man so much. He wanted to punch him until he didn't have the strength to do so anymore. He wanted to make Layton feel what he felt. And yet… he couldn't. He couldn't look into that face and hate Layton. The man was just too nice, too genuine and… everything that Claire had ever wanted in a man. Looking into that face, he knew that it wasn't Layton that he hated – it was himself for not being Layton.

He broke the eye contact and looked down at the table, feeling himself shaking involuntarily.

"I dislike the concept of you," Dimitri whispered.

"Which brings me back to my original position," Layton said, leaning forwards, "Most of what we know about each other comes from presumptions. You dislike what you assume about me, but you don't really know me. And I don't know you either, but I would very much like to."

"Why?" Dimitri demanded, eyes snapping back up to look at Layton, "If we have nothing to do with each other, then what possible cause could you have to want to know me?"

"Because you were Claire's friend. She didn't spend her time with people who weren't decent and if she regarded you as being worth her time, then you are worth my time, too. That's probably not the answer that you want to hear, but that is the one I'm presenting to you," Layton said, solemnly.

A hand was brought up to Dimitri's face. He was still shaking and it wasn't hard to tell that he was crying.

"Claire… wasn't right about everything…" he whimpered.

"But I don't feel that she was wrong about one of her closest friends," Layton murmured, finding himself reaching towards the glass without even meaning to do so, "Please, Dimitri, all that's left of her is the memories that we have. Don't let her fade away."

Voice cracking, Dimitri choked, "So you… want to start a fan club after all…"

"I want the company of someone who respected her as much as I did," Layton replied.

"Yes. Sure." Dimitri nodded, wiping his eyes, "If there's one thing I do have its respect for Claire… You've got me there."

"Then please, will you let me talk with you?" Layton asked.

"As best I can," Dimitri answered.

They looked at each other, with the same expression. They didn't even need to say it, because they knew what the other way thinking…

_'Tell me about Claire.'_

This became the basis of all of their discussions. They had each been parts of two very separate halves of Claire's life and coming together gave the full picture of Claire as an individual, at least as they had both known her. The two of them somehow felt better for these shared memories.

However, everything about Claire was in the past tense and not an ever-blossoming fountain of new information for them to discuss.

And so, one day came, when the topic of conversation changed. Instead of 'tell me about Claire', Dimitri started them off with; "Tell me about you."

"What?" Layton murmured, surprised.

"Tell me about your day. I want to know," Dimitri repeated.

So Layton did tell him about his day. And the next day after that. And the next one, too. Until his conversations with Dimitri became almost a mirror of those he was having with Clive and he pitied that the prison would not allow for the three of them to all have talks together. Finally, he felt that he was seeing Dimitri as a real person and not a reel of film about Claire's working life.

"Yeah, he really seems to like you," Clive commented, when Layton brought up the subject to him. "Of course you understand that him and I aren't exactly best friends after what happened, but he always seems more cheerful when you're due to visit."

"Then I'm glad to have helped one man feel better about himself," Layton replied.

"Mm, he's certainly feeling something," Clive hummed.

"What was that?" Layton pressed.

"Never mind," Clive dismissed, "Look, I'm not going to keep you for today. So why don't you head off to have the same conversation with Dimitri minus the part where we talk about him?"

"As blunt as ever," Layton sighed, "But very well. It's always a pleasure to see you, Clive."

"Same to you, Professor," Clive agreed, "Tomorrow again?"

"Of course," concluded Layton, as Clive got up to leave.

The young man was led out and past Dimitri, who was being led to the room where Layton was. Though Dimitri did not make eye contact with him, Clive had no doubt that he was right about those other feelings he had for Layton.

He'd almost have a cause to feel jealous, if it wasn't for the fact that both Dimitri and Layton were so bad at understanding their own feelings.

Still, maybe one day, if he was feeling generous, he could point them out to them both.

That's what friends are for, right?


	14. Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crow muses about the Black Ravens while hunting for new items to sell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set soon after PL4.

No one is born with the knowledge that you can convince someone to buy anything with the right persuasion, but some people pick it up faster than others. From an age when most children were more concerned with who was going to be picked for what team in an afternoon's game of football, Crow had been able to look out on a pile of junk and see a potential profit to be made from it.

Which was fortunate, since Crow lived in an area that had a great many piles of junk in it.

There were two sides of Misthallery – the whimsical tourist side, where you could travel up a stream of clear water in a beautiful boat and admire the wonderfully historic scenery, and the other side. It wasn't that there was particularly anything wrong with the other side or that tourists were told to avoid going there, but it was viewed as being quite dirty and overall was just a simple market place. There was nothing of any interest there.

At least, not until Crow made something of interest in it.

This wasn't a task he would ever have claimed to have done on his own, as it had taken the combined talents of many of the other children in that area. They had created a character and a rumour. The character was the Black Raven, a fable created by a costume that was made of yet more junk thrown out by those who didn't need it anymore. And the rumour was that if you followed the Black Raven, then you would reach the hidden black market, where many items of value and wonder were sold to the highest bidder.

These items, in truth, held no real value for the most part, but wonder… now wonder is something you can sell to someone. You can polish up a worthless trinket and in the right light it could look like something rare and valuable. Something that a man in a mask would tell you was worth money and you'd buy it with the intention of getting it valued professionally one day, but then shove it in a drawer somewhere and forget about it all together.

Crow knew how the minds of adults worked. He knew fine well that if enough people heard of the black market and how it was notoriously hard to get into, then after they had gone through all the effort of getting there at all, that they'd convince themselves that anything being sold there simply must be worth their while.

Few of them ever realised the truth of the matter, and if they did, then it was often too late by then. The Black Raven would be gone with the gold and the black market once more impossible for the person to find.

Sometimes, Crow would think about the future. He'd wonder just how far he could push this Black Raven scheme. That maybe, when he was an adult himself, that he could expand the business further than just Misthallery. In the city there were many more people – did that mean that there were more fools to trick or more wise men that'd be likely to catch them out?

Professor Layton had come from the city…

But Crow wasn't scared of Layton. He might have been caught out by him once, but as he got older, Crow reasoned that his intellect would probably improve enough to match or surpass even that of the man in the top hat.

However, that was all the future. And if you spend too long lost in a world of what that might come, then you lose track of what's happening right now. You forget to check up on Scraps and Badger, foraging for new items to sell among the piles of junk, only to find that they have instead decided to slack off and do something else. If you turn away from Wren and Socket for too long, then you'll find that they've started bickering with one another once more and nothing gets done. Or else Gus might get hungry and wander off to bother Marilyn at her market stall, to try to get some free food from her. Even Louis could be distracted from work by the prospect of getting sweets from Aunt Taffy.

They needed someone to organise them, to keep them focused, and Crow was that someone. He kept the machine moving and if any of the others resented him for it, then they did not show it.

Sometimes he wondered if there'd even be a Black Raven without him. He was the one who had come up with the concept, and while he would never have been able to execute the plan without their help, without him pushing the idea, would they all still be sat around on the corners of the dump waiting for Aunt Taffy to pass by in the hope that she'd sell them some sweets.

Not everyone can look at a pile of junk and see a goldmine. Some people need to be taught to see it. Crow liked to think that he'd taught the other kids to see the goldmine and that maybe one day, if even just one of them became successful through doing this, then it would be thanks to his guidance.

The day's hunt for new items to sell was ended for Crow by finding a hat. It was a very tall, brown, top hat with a red ribbon wrapped around it. Rather nice to look at. This hat did not look like it had been very long in the pile of junk, but instead as if it had just blown in on the wind.

He pricked his ears and could hear the voice of a man yelling, most probably looking for said hat as it had blown away.

Well now.

By the laws of the black market, this top hat was now under possession of the Black Raven. And if its original owner, friend though he may be, wanted it back, then he would have to pay a fine price for it.

It takes a good businessman to look out to nothing and see a goldmine, but yet, sometimes even among the trash, a true treasure can emerge.

He tucked the top hat under his arm and began to walk back to the market's head quarters.

Crow, you see, was an expert at finding treasures.


	15. Dimitri/Claire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only thing that Dimitri cared about was working on the time machine and no help that Bill could hire was going to change that. How soon Dimitri realised he was going to eat those words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime prior to the flashbacks in PL3.

"I don't see why you're making a big deal out of this."

Dimitri hadn't even pulled himself out from under the machine to talk to Bill. He was far too busy to stop what he was doing, so if Bill wanted to chat, then he'd just have to make his points while Dimitri picked up the slack that Bill was creating by not working.

"This is exactly why I'm bringing it up," Bill grumbled, tugging the board Dimitri had been lying on out from under the newly founded developments of their time machine and forcing him to talk, "We have no time to stop for breaks at all."

"I don't find that to be a problem," commented Dimitri, frowning.

"Well I do," snapped Bill, "I have a life away from this place, unlike some. So I think the only way we're going to be able to keep up the pace is by hiring some help."

Shrugging, knowing that there was no way to talk Bill out of something he'd set his mind on, Dimitri replied, "Do what you like." Then he pushed the board back under the machine and continued where he left off.

This discussion was over.

As far as Dimitri was concerned, Bill could hire an assistant to help him with the project, but it made very little difference to him personally. What he was concerned about was the time machine and that alone. It was probably the only thing he ever thought about, day in, day out, so pushing himself to work harder and more often on it came naturally. He wished that he could say the same of Bill, but the other man was more concerned with the rewards that came with the completed contraction than actually working on it.

Quite honestly, even though they were supposed to be a team, Dimitri knew that he was truly working by himself on the time machine. He could imagine that any help Bill brought in would make little difference to him at all.

So the days went by, wanted adverts appeared in the newspapers and Dimitri assumed that interviews were held, though he never bothered do find out from Bill how they went.

Within himself, he could imagine exactly the sort of person who Bill would come back with. "Wanted: Scientist" wasn't really a common job request. Every university graduate who took science and had failed to get a career after leaving their course would be all over it. And without a doubt Bill would pick the weediest, twitchiest one, who'd just do what Bill said without answering back.

The day came when wonder-assistant was due to debut in the laboratory and it found Dimitri in the same place that he had been when Bill had proposed the idea to him – underneath the time machine, working on a few touches before he could attach the base.

"That pair of legs under there belongs to Dimitri," Bill commented, as Dimitri heard two sets of footsteps approaching. So it appeared Bill was trying to be funny with the new kid already. Brilliant.

"Yeah, hello," Dimitri muttered, sticking a hand out to wave before going back to work.

"You won't get much talk out of him. He lives and breathes this darn machine. Human contact is quite beyond him," said Bill, with the air of someone describing a demented uncle who lived in the attic to a formal houseguest. 'Never you mind crazy Dimitri, just let him be.'

"Isn't that why we're here though, to devote ourselves to a project of the kind that no one has ever seen before? That's the whole reason why your advert interested me, Mr. Hawks. A lot of my co-workers said they thought you guys were crazy, but after reading Mr. Allen's thesis on time travel, I think there's some solid evidence that with the right work, you could pull this off. And I'd love to be on board with a project like that."

No way…

That was a woman's voice, belonging to someone who actually had some interest in what they were doing beyond 'it's a job'.

Dimitri went to scramble out from under the machine, but in his haste to look up smacked his head against one of the hanging pipes. He clutched at his forehead, gritting his teeth as Bill laughed.

"What did I tell you? No social skills whatsoever," Bill cackled.

"Are you all right?" the young lady asked, crouching down next to him.

"I-I… I'm fine, r-really…" Dimitri gulped.

She was pretty, really pretty. And rarely did Dimitri pay attention to things like that, but she had just expressed a sort of interest in the project that no one other than him had ever seemed to possess, so all in all, it was very easy to notice her and how very… very, um, nice she looked. But right now her face was focused into a look of genuine concern.

"This is Claire Foley," Bill told him, once he'd finished laughing at Dimitri, "She's the hired help that you've got no interest in. A fresh graduate from Gressenheller. Try not to scare her off."

"Nice to meet you," Claire said, holding out her hand.

Letting go of the bump appearing on his forehead, Dimitri gingerly shook her hand, hoping his nerves weren't all too obvious.

"Y-you too…" he mumbled.

"I'm looking forward to working on the time machine with you both," she went on, "You do look a lot different than what I imagined you would too, Mr. Allen. Scientists who release statements as… out there as yours tend to be so old, but you can't be that far out of university yourself."

"Um, I've… been working on this project since I graduated," he agreed.

There was no way that he could comment on the fact that she didn't look anything like what he'd been expecting either – since his expectations for the assistant had been some sweaty, nerdy guy who lived in his mother's basement and was desperate for cash. In contrast, Claire was bright-eyed and red-haired, dressed in a most controlled and presentable manner. Also, she was most definitely female. Probably the biggest surprise of all.

"Quite the talker, isn't he?" Bill sneered, "Come on, there's plenty more to see here that's far more interesting than this guy. Say goodbye to the pretty lady, Dimitri."

"I'll see you later," Claire cut in, before Dimitri could risk embarrassing himself further by responding to Bill's remark.

"Y-yeah, um, hope you enjoy your tour," Dimitri replied, watching them leave. He continued to stare for longer than he realised, before reminding himself that there was a time machine that needed more than just fine tuning.

So then he shook his head and pulled himself back under the work-in-progress machine, taking care not to hit that pipe this time around. The rest of the day his mind drifted from Claire to the project then back to Claire again. He'd never known anyone to distract him from work so much, why was he so interested in a girl he'd only just met?

Dimitri was still there debating this with himself and failing to concentrate on work when he heard the clock chime 10:00pm.

"He was right about you never going home," Claire commented.

His blood might as well have frozen right there. What was she still doing here at this time of night?

"I, ah, have a lot to do," Dimitri mumbled, coming out from the machine without bashing his head this time, "You've not gone home yet?"

She smirked, commenting, "I'm here for the same reason you are, so Mr. Haw- …Bill gave me a key."

"That was nice of him," said Dimitri, his eyes drawn up to the top of the time machine, where he was sure it looked a lot more complete than it had done that morning, "Was that you?"

"Yep, been working on it all afternoon," answered Claire.

"That's… really good. You didn't have to," he replied, feeling awkward that he hadn't even realised she was there while they'd been working so closely on the same machine.

"That's what an assistant is for," she reminded, "And I could also fetch a first-aid kit if you like, because that bump on your head looks nasty."

"N-no, it's fine!" Dimitri stammered.

He felt his face turn red as another wave of embarrassment ran through him. How had he managed to humiliate himself in front of Claire so thoroughly as soon as he'd met her?

"All right, if you're sure," Claire said, "But it is quite late, so I really should be getting back now. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait," Dimitri called, once she'd turned to leave. As Claire looked back at him, a little confused, he offered, "I'm actually finishing up here too. If you like, I could walk you home- …I mean that we could walk home together. As friends! If we're both heard the same way…"

He didn't care if Claire lived on the opposite side of London to him; he was going to walk her home after that awkward statement.

"I'd like that," she giggled. Unlike when Bill laughed at him, Dimitri found that he didn't mind Claire's giggling; it seemed much less accusing and put his mind at ease.

And so the lab was closed at the earliest hour that it had been for such a long time, as the remaining two scientists headed home. If not make the project go faster, Bill's hired help had certainly managed to make Dimitri think about something other than work.

Surprisingly, Dimitri realised that he didn't mind this fact very much at all.


	16. Bill/Jakes (cursed lol)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill Hawks decides to visit an old friend in prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set soon after PL4.

"You shouldn't be here, Prime Minister."

"Who are you to tell the Prime Minister where he should be?"

Fair enough, good point. Chelmey was more than happy for an excuse to vacate this location anyway. He was a good inspector, very dedicated to his job, but this whole case had given him the creeps and he wanted little more to do with it. The Misthallery incident that been mostly relayed to him through second-hand information. It had been Grosky's case, with him picking up the pieces that were brought back and shoving them in prison cells.

One particularly large piece of the puzzle was Levin Jakes, the former chief of police from Misthallery. Chelmey was disgusted to think that a man who was supposed to stand for authority had been corrupt enough to do dodgy dealings with a… a criminal like this Descole fellow. But the evidence was stacked against Jakes, leading to his current imprisonment.

Apparently there had been a special request to keep as much of the incident quiet as possible for at least a year. It was an odd demand, but Chelmey trusted Grosky enough to follow it through. Which was why it was all the more worrying that Bill Hawks, the current Prime Minister of England, seemed to be showing an interest in it.

"Our men will be waiting outside of the door," Chelmey said, if there had been any doubt about that, "If there's any sound of a struggle they'll be through in a moment."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure they will be," Bill grumbled, dismissively.

"If that's all then I'll show myself out," muttered Chelmey.

He felt very uneasy about this whole thing, but he couldn't argue with the Prime Minister. Bill had made that point clear on several occasions.

Bill waited until the door had clicked shut and be could hear the footsteps of Chelmey echoing distantly down the corridor before he commented, "Well it's about time."

Then he made his way over to the cell that contained Jakes. While aware that he was most likely still being monitored, Bill trusted that his political leverage would prevent any damage from leaving this room.

Jakes was skulking in the corner, as best someone the size of Jakes could possibly skulk. He didn't look over as Bill approached.

"It seems that your third eye didn't see this coming, old friend," said Bill, as he reached the bars.

He received a glare that most wouldn't be able to get away with giving the all mighty ruler of England, and Jake replied, "What do you want?"

"I thought I'd come to visit you. There's no further motivation in this than that," Bill answered.

A snort; "Unlikely. You want to know about that Descole guy, don't you? I already told the coppers that I don't know nothing that he didn't tell me. And he didn't tell me where he was going or where he came from."

Without trying to work out the grammar of those statements, Bill answered, "I have no interest in what Descole is doing."

"But ain't he a threat to your country?" Jakes asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My dear Jakes, you should know me better than that by now. As long as he doesn't hurt my beloved Caroline or myself, then he can do what he likes," snorted Bill.

"How is your wife anyway?" said Jakes, for the sake of grasping onto a subject matter that wasn't Descole.

"Oh, she's just as much of a spend-thrift as ever," Bill replied, "Most of the time I think she cares more about my money than she does me."

"Perish the thought," said Jakes, wondering if Bill was actually under any delusions that his appearance or personality was what kept Caroline around.

"Yes, well, sometimes I miss the simpler times, when it was just the two of us. Before I got involved with those blasted scientists or running the country or anything like that," Bill retorted.

"I thought you'd forgotten all about those times," commented Jakes. Bill had proven forgetful about a lot of things since becoming Prime Minister.

Shaking his head, Bill answered, "I would never forget about a friendship as dear to me as ours. But unfortunately the evidence stacks against you this time…"

"So you can't wave your magic political wand and get me out of here?" Jakes questioned. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd gotten away with crimes due to Bill covering them up for him.

"You were too careless in this case, there's a whole town stating that you worked with that man," concluded Bill, "However, that does not mean that this is the end for you."

"Oh?" Jakes looked quite interested now.

"As a close friend of mine, I will see to it that you are cared for," assured Bill, "There is only so much that I can do, but, to the extents that my power will let me, your time in prison will be a comfortable one."

"Prison ain't supposed to be comfortable," Jakes pointed out.

"You'd be surprised," chuckled Bill, "And regardless, if one good thing has come from your arrest, it's that we'll be able to spend more time together without that son of yours or my darned wife running in on us."

"I had considered that," agreed Jakes, his mouth curving into a grin.

"Later, I assure you," Bill hummed, "For now I don't want the guards to be too suspicious. So I'll bid you farewell, my friend."

"You'd better come back, Hawks," threatened Jakes.

Rolling his eyes, Bill answered, "You can trust my word."

Jakes highly doubted that, but he refrained from commenting as Bill showed himself out. It was a few more minutes before the officers showed Chelmey back into the room. The inspector looked like he thought something was wrong, but knew better than to question the motives of Bill Hawks. So he settled himself down to do his paperwork, ignoring Jakes as best he could.

But Jakes didn't care about what the little officers thought of him now, because he had a friend in a high place to look out for him.

Suddenly, Jakes was quite looking forward to his comfortable stay in prison.


	17. Wren, Socket & Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wren and Socket have been given the tedious task of having to babysit the honorary Black Raven member, Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL4.

"And this is the super secret tunnel that leads down to where we do all of our black market dealings."

"No it isn't, Socket!"

"Yes it is, Wren! What else could it possibly be, if it's not a tunnel?"

"Well, it _is_ a tunnel that leads to our base, sure, but now that you've told Tony about it, we can hardly call it a secret anymore."

"Tony's an honorary member now, so it's okay. Besides, it's still a secret from most of Misthallery, anyway."

"Except for all of us, our customers, Professor Layton, Luke, Miss Altava-"

"Guys, its okay," Tony cut in, before the siblings could argue any further, "I just want to see more of your Black Raven stuff."

The two of them exchanged uncertain glances.

"Um," Wren started, "I'm not sure you should go down there exactly. I mean, we can show you all the other cool Black Raven places around the market, but down there is sort of… eh… like our inner sanctum. Only fully qualified members and customers get to go down there."

"Oh, if you say so…" Tony mumbled, shuffling where he stood, "I guess we can just go look at something else."

"Yeah, that'd be best. You're really going to be impressed by Badger's lookout post," Socket promised, slapping Tony on the back reassuringly.

This seemed to do the trick, with Tony nodding and urging them on ahead. As they walked, Wren and Socket ended up exchanging slightly nervous glances again.

Tony was an honorary member of the Black Raven gang. This was a title that Crow had bestowed on him for all his help back when that mysterious Descole guy had attacked their town. Which was all fair enough – so long as you didn't forget what the term "honorary member" actually meant. It meant that you weren't really a member, it's just a title given out as a reward for doing something helpful for a group. The group in question would respect that the person was, by title, one of them, but in practise, that person wasn't expected to actually stick around for longer than a few days.

The latter was the part that Tony had trouble grasping.

He seemed to believe that being an honorary member meant that he was on the way to becoming a full member someday. And… well, he was a nice kid and they didn't have any objections to him hanging around with them, but he wasn't really… how could they put it? He wasn't Black Raven material, to be frank.

All the same, he kept turning up at the market to hang around with them almost every day. Leading Crow, who probably hadn't thought this honorary member thing through far enough when he'd made Tony one, to frequently palm him off on other members to babysit for the day while the rest of them got on with the actual work.

Today was the turn of Wren and Socket, who were running out of things to show him.

"That's the post up there," Socket announced, gesturing to a wooden structure above them, "Badger uses it so that he can look out onto the market and see if there's any strangers coming. Then he can warn Scraps to stop looking through the piles of rubbish and tell the rest of us to get ready for a customer."

"Cool!" Tony exclaimed, staring up at it with wide eyes.

"Why don't you come down and tell Tony a bit about what you do?" Socket called up, having just seen the top of Badger's head peer down at them.

"Um, I'm very busy right now," Badger lied, "Got a lot of… looking out to do. Wouldn't want someone t' steal a good bit of loot from Scraps 'cause I had me back turned."

More likely, he didn't want to have to explain his role to Tony for the millionth time.

"When I become a proper Black Raven, maybe I can go on look out just like you do," Tony shouted up to him.

"Yeah, sure, keep practising," Badger replied, as the other two led Tony away.

Anyone else might have been able to see that none of the group was very forthcoming with information about how exactly they could become a proper member, but if Tony was anything, it was devoted – he had spent over a year acting as a vengeful bodyguard for his older sister Arianna before everything had been sorted out, after all.

Besides, the kid was so nice that the rest of them just couldn't bring themselves to break his little heart by telling him no. Even Crow found it hard to disappoint him, hence why he let everyone else deal with Tony, so that he didn't have to face him himself. There was still work to be done, after all, and Crow was very business-minded.

"I really think that we've shown him everything that there is to see," Wren whispered to Socket, as Tony skipped ahead.

"We showed him our place?"

"That was the first thing we did with him."

"Marilyn's fruit stall?"

"Roddy did that the other day."

"Um, Aunt Taffy's sweet stall?"

"Please, that's hardly part of our business. Besides, I'm definitely sure he's been there before."

"Did you say something about Aunt Taffy's?" Tony asked, having stopped to stare back at them.

"We… we were thinking about going there," Wren replied.

"But we can't get any sweets, because we don't have the money for it," Socket added. Crow was always very sensible with rationing the money, sadly. He didn't mention that also their mother tended not to allow them to have extra sweets between meals.

"Is that all?" Tony laughed, "I can get you guys sweets, if you want."

"You can?" Socket gaped.

"Of course. We have lots of money and I usually buy all the sweets to share with Arianna anyway," Tony informed them.

They knew that part was true, at least. On more than one occasion, the group had gone to buy sweets from Aunt Taffy only to find that a mysterious boy had dropped by earlier and cleaned out the whole stall before they could even get a look at it.

"We couldn't ask you to do that," Wren said, much to the clear disappointment of Socket, "That would be selfish."

"But you're my friends and I'm a future Black Raven," Tony insisted, "I want to get sweets to share with you guys."

"If you put it like that…"

"Do you guys like sherbet lemons? Those are one of my favourites. We can get lots of them if you want," Tony went on, tugging on both of their sleeves.

"I don't think it would hurt to have a few sweets," Socket said, allowing Tony to tug him forwards, "We have earned them. Um, do you think we should tell Crow about this?"

Wren looked thoughtful for a while, and then answered, "No, I reckon he's too busy right now to take a break for sweets."

After all, if Crow was going to dump the hard work on them, then it was only fair that they should reap the rewards.

"Come on, guys!" Tony said, letting go of their arms to dash ahead.

"Coming!" They both called. For once, the siblings were in agreement about something.

Perhaps having an honorary member sticking around wouldn't be that bad after all.


	18. Layton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton is faced with the duty of attending his first parents evening to find out about Flora's progress in school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL1.

As long as there have been functioning families involving working parents, there has been an air of the parents trying to navigate their lives around making sure their children are exactly where they need to be, when they need to be there. With the pressure being doubled if there is only one parent to care for said children as opposed to two.

Layton assumed that parents mould their routines around their children naturally over time, since they have the whole of the child's life to adjust to it. It was rather different if you'd never been a father before, only to suddenly find a young teenage girl living with you and having to shape what you do around her. Which was what his current situation with Flora was like.

It was entirely different to his experience looking after Luke. Luke was never Layton's son, he was the son of a friend, who Layton more than frequently cared for, but couldn't replace Clark as being the boy's father. It was no lie that Luke was often with him, but he treated Luke as Luke wanted to be treated – like a student who was learning from him. On multiple occasions the boy had proven himself to be very capable when faced with danger, so Layton didn't worry for him as much as he worried for his recently acquired daughter.

That wasn't to say that he was perfect in being constantly around to care for Flora either. As she would probably tell you herself, he had on many occasions left Flora behind out of both a desire to keep her out of danger and sometimes just out of thoughtlessness. Though he tried his hardest, Layton often found it quite difficult to be responsible for a daughter when he'd never had to do so before.

Which came back to having to fit caring for a child around everything else he had to do. He was a university professor, with obligations to teach at Gressenheller. As well as this, he was also, somewhat unofficially, a solver of many mysteries – something that the press were well aware of when they frequently monitored whatever it was he happened to be up to at any given time. But regardless of these things, there was a young girl who needed caring for and even though he was not always perfect in managing to do so, as often as he could, he made sure that there was at least someone around to look after Flora when he could not. Rosa seemed to find herself doubling as a nanny as well as a housekeeper these days.

There were, however, roles that Rosa could not cover for in the grand scheme of raising Flora. And one of these was attending parents evenings held by the local school that Flora was attending.

Layton greatly approved of parents evenings. He felt that communication between teacher and guardian was something that should be valued and helped the child to progress better in their learning. Even though he was a busy man, he would never pass up the chance to hear about his daughter's progress in her education. So he had rearranged a few classes, denied some requests for him to help solve a few cases and made sure that he was present at the school seven o'clock sharp, as the letter had required.

A school at night, with all its lights still on and obviously full of people, would probably be an eerie sight to many, but not so much to the Professor. He was used to being in the university at all hours, seeing eager students also studying in the facilities there at any given time of day, so this was positively normal to him.

Despite how normal it might have been, however, he felt nerves creeping into his system for an entirely different reason.

Sitting there on one of those little plastic chairs, waiting in a queue of other parents to be called through to see Flora's teacher, left him with nothing else to do but think about what said teacher might say about the girl's education. In that moment, he had the overwhelming sense of worry that he might not have done his best – he might not have taught Flora enough himself or been around as much as she needed him to be. Maybe all of the puzzles he'd provided her with weren't the right thing to help her along in life.

These worries had time to fester, as it wasn't until a full thirty minutes later before he was finally called through to the teacher's office. Although he felt nervous, he tried to mask it with a smile, silently wondering if this was how his students felt when he called them to his office.

"There's no need for you to introduce yourself, Mr. Layton," said a lady sat behind a desk, a prim-looking young woman who had her hair tied back tightly, "Everyone in London has heard your name."

"All the same, madam, it never hurts to be polite," Layton insisted, tipping his hat before he was gestured to take a seat on the opposite side of the desk.

"If Flora hasn't mentioned it before, I am her teacher, Miss Gilford," Layton was informed, "And I must say that we were very honoured to have the daughter of the great Professor Layton enrolled into our school, even with the somewhat unusual circumstances that came with her."

"Regardless of circumstances, Flora is simply my daughter now," Layton heard himself saying, "And I should hope that her treatment isn't affected too much by my… I'm hesitant to call it such, but 'celebrity status'."

Miss Gilford's eyes grew wide and she shook her head quickly; "Of course not, Mr. Layton. Flora doesn't receive any favouritism at all and is treated just like the rest of the class."

Although he doubted that this would be true for all of her teachers, he was willing to give this woman, at least, the benefit of the doubt.

"I'm glad to hear this," he replied, "Because what I am most concerned about is how Flora is doing in her lessons herself."

There was a moment in which Miss Gilford shuffled through some prepared notes that had been provided for her by Flora's other teachers, before she answered, "You have very little to worry about in that regard. For the most part Flora is achieving about average levels of results in her classes. We expect her to get good grades and move onto the next year with no troubles."

"So everything is fine then?" Layton checked, feeling the wave of uncertainty ease off as he heard that Flora didn't seem to be falling behind.

"There is one thing…"

There always had to be one thing.

"What is it?" asked Layton, as the nerves crept back in.

"There is no delicate way to put this… Your daughter is failing Home Economics," Miss Gilford answered, looking quite awkward about having to impart this information.

"Home Economics?" echoed Layton, frowning slightly.

"Mostly the cookery side of things," confirmed the teacher, and then she corrected, "Actually, only the cookery side of things. I'm very sorry; Mr. Layton, but your daughter simply cannot complete even the simplest of recipes without, well… small scale disaster. You shouldn't worry too much, as there isn't an exam for the subject this year at least, but it is certainly something that you should be encouraging her to practise."

Layton found himself chuckling slightly; "Don't worry; Flora does indeed get plenty of practise cooking at home."

If he'd known that the only thing she was failing at was cooking, then he'd have no reason to worry. As Flora's lack of skills in this department was obvious to anyone who had ever mistakenly tried any of her home baking.

"Are you sure? From some of the results we've been getting, a lot of the teachers were assuming that she'd never even been in a kitchen before," Miss Gilford squeaked, obviously worried about offending him.

"Flora practically lives in our kitchen at home," Layton replied, still smiling, "She may not be very good at it, but she takes great pride in her experimental creations."

"That's the part that we're most worried about," admitted Miss Gilford, "Because Flora has expressed that this is the subject she wanted to pursue in later years. We've tried very hard to convince her to go for options that come more naturally to her, but she is completely set that she wants to study Home Economics on a higher level."

"I see…" muttered Layton, the smile slowly starting to die away.

"As a parent, I would recommend that you either try to convince her to go for other subjects or else… help her to improve her cookery skills, if that is even possible," Miss Gilford concluded.

Nodding, Layton replied, "Thank you very much for your wise advice, Miss. And I also must thank you for the care and consideration you have undoubtedly been showing Flora as she's been studying here."

"Oh, not at all. And if you have any further concerns about Flora's education, then you need only to contact us and ask. But for the moment I have a few other people to see before the end of the evening," Miss Gilford said.

"But of course. I'll show myself out," said Layton, getting from the seat once more. With another tip of the hat and thanking the lady for her time, Layton left the office.

He went home that night with considerably more on his mind that he thought that he'd have, barely even noticing when Rosa opened the front door to his own house for him.

"How did it go then?" the cheery housekeeper asked, as he stepped inside.

"Mostly very well," answered Layton, hanging his coat on the rack by the door.

"Mostly?" Rosa could read him like a book.

"There was one thing, as there always is," Layton replied. Then changed the subject, "Where is Flora?"

"Where do you think? She's off in the kitchen making pate a la… something with an odd looking vegetable and some chocolate sprinkles in it. Care to give her the cease and desist order?" laughed Rosa, good-heartedly.

"No, I rather think that I won't this time," Layton replied, in a thoughtful manner.

"Well, it's your insides whatever she's making is going to be playing havoc with in the morning," Rosa warned.

"Not if I can steer her on the right track," argued Layton, heading towards the kitchen.

"You are familiar with her cooking, I know you are," Rosa called after him. She knew better than to try to stop the man once he had his mind set on something, however. It was only her job to clean up after any messes he left behind.

Layton ignored this comment, heading through to where young Flora was happily trying to mix what looked like the head of a salmon into a bowl of odd-smelling greenish paste.

She was his daughter, he knew that. She loved cooking, he knew that too. She possessed not even the slightest skill in creating anything edible; his digestive system knew that better than anyone's. But what she wanted to do with her life was cook. That was what he had learned today.

And Layton, although probably not the best parent in the world, knew that as the best parent he possibly could be, that it was his job to help teach her to cook better, not to talk her into doing another subject that she didn't have the same passion for.

As he hazardously plucked the salmon head out of the bowl, only to find that it had been stuffed with jam, he knew that he had a long few years ahead of him…


	19. Rosa & The Robot Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While spring cleaning Layton's study, Rosa finds a long forgotten robot dog and decides that it's time for the little fellow to find a new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL3 and uses the name "Gizmo" for the robot dog from PL1.

When Layton and Luke had returned from their trip to solve "an inheritance dispute" for the Reinhold family, they had a great many stories to tell Rosa about their adventure. First and foremost being why Layton had returned with a young girl called Flora, whom he was insisting of adopting as his daughter. Since underneath all of that calm and calculation, Rosa knew that Layton could be quite reckless in his choices, at least where doing the right thing was concerned; she didn't argue the point beyond a quick scolding for him not planning far enough ahead to consider all of the details that have a daughter led to.

Quite further back in the tales of what happened at St. Mystere, was the story of a little, robotic dog. In all the excitement of Flora joining the household, this fellow had been quite overlooked until Rosa had retrieved him from the suitcase, with a look of surprise on her face to find anything so unusual there.

"Luke, do you know what this is?" she'd asked, carrying the yapping contraption through to where the others were.

"Oh, that's Gizmo," Luke told her, "The Professah and I made 'im from old parts and a sheets of instructions we got at St. Mystere. He's a great dog, really good at findin' 'int coins."

"How very nice," Rosa laughed, putting the other newest addition to the family down on the floor, where he sat quietly in the lack of any hint coins to find, watching them.

Gizmo's talent was certainly one that would prove very helpful to the Professor and his young apprentice in theory, Rosa knew, but that was not how it worked out in practise.

Layton's main flaw was that he was a rather forgetful person. So as potentially useful as the dog's ability was, most of the time Layton just didn't remember to take him out with him. Magnified by the fact that he often didn't know when adventure was going to find him – a trip to visit his old mentor Dr. Schrader, for example, had resulted in a murder mystery that led him all the way to a mysterious village out in the country, called Folsense.

"It would have been handy if you'd had someone who could find hint coins for you, what with visiting all these new places," Rosa had said, once he'd got back.

"We ended up not having to worry about that," Layton said, "As odd as it might sound, Luke and I agreed to look after a hamster on behalf of a chef for a while. We've given him back now, but the little fellow proved to be quite apt in the art of sniffing hint coins out once we got him back into shape."

It seemed that wherever Layton and Luke went, they somehow managed to find some sort of creature with a talent for finding hint coins by chance. After the hamster came a parrot, and if Rosa remembered rightly, they'd somehow trained a fish to do the same thing back in Misthallery, and who knew what other animals they'd used to help them track down the hidden coins.

Poor Gizmo remained quite forgotten, even by Rosa, right up until one day when she was cleaning out one of the cupboards in Layton's study.

The study was a mess at the best of times, magnified by Luke leaving – since he had always been the one to very insistently keep Layton's office clean. Once Luke was gone, Rosa reluctantly had to bring herself to clean out the office on her own. It was a mammoth task, as the room was filled with little trinkets from Layton's travels that had been shoved onto the first available surface. He was the sort of man who would put a rock on an unused part of the floor, then turn around and say that rock had been very important and he now couldn't find it upon you moving it to a more sensible storage place than the floor.

It had taken many days for Rosa to even get the study clean enough to even tackle the cupboard at all. And she couldn't say she was surprised to find that it was filled to the bursting point with junk. Some of it fell to the floor as she opened the door.

After a while of filtering through _'junk that Layton would probably only care about if it went missing'_ and _'junk that he probably wouldn't notice if she threw it away',_ Rosa eventually caught sight of something red, silver and rather dusty near the back of the cupboard.

With some effort, she managed to pull out the robotic dog. Its eyes were shut, as it had clearly been turned offline sometime ago. Though Rosa knew that it was essentially just a toy and had no feelings towards whether it was in use or not, the sight was still quite a sad one for her.

She didn't know who had ultimately put Gizmo away in a cupboard like that and frankly she wasn't going to ask. She had a suspicion that it might have been Layton, since the man had developed a tendency to shut away anything that reminded him of Luke after the boy had left, whether he admitted to it or not, but that was beside the point.

The point was that, at the end of the day, Rosa had found herself left with this toy or pet or whatever the dog was regarded as, that clearly wasn't been cared for by it's owners anymore. And while she could probably present her finding to Layton, in all likelihood the only thing that would happen would be that it would remind him of the days gone by, he'd make some vague promise to keep the robot in use, let Flora play with Gizmo for a while, then eventually put him back in the cupboard when they both got bored of him again.

No. Rosa knew from experience that when a child grows out of a toy, you give that toy to another child that will appreciate it more. Layton was essentially like a grown up child in this regard and she would treat the situation as such.

So without a word to Layton himself about her findings, she took a short leave of absence, packed Gizmo away and went to a place that she had only but heard of before.

Misthallery.

A little town the Professor had talked about a lot. Luke, another child that Layton had one day brought home with him on a whim, had come from there. It was, for a long time, the home of Layton's old college friend and Luke's father, Clark Triton. As well as being the first place that she could remember Layton saying that he had been attacked by his old foe, Descole.

Among the things that Layton had told Rosa in passing about Misthallery was the large population of children there. There were the Barde siblings, Arianna and Tony, who had been at the heart of the mystery Layton had solved there, an organised group of children who referred to themselves as the Black Ravens, and many others besides.

If Rosa was going to find a new home for Gizmo, then this was the right place to look.

And sure enough, upon her arrival, she was almost instantly greeted by a pair of children, who she soon learned to be siblings, called Wren and Socket.

"Nice to meet you, Miss. We don't get many visitors here at this time of year," the boy, Socket, had said.

"Yes, well, I'm a friend of Professor Layton, here on his behalf," she told them.

"Professor Layton?" they echoed, eyes lighting up. Clearly this had been the right thing to say to them.

"Indeed," Rosa laughed, "And as strange as this might sound, I have a present for whichever children in Misthallery can best look after it."

"That'll be us, the Black Ravens," Socket replied, proudly.

"Just give us a minute," his sister, Wren, added.

The two of them darted off and soon returned with a bunch of children who may well have been in hiding somewhere near, for the speed they arrived. She couldn't tell if they were all members of the famed Black Ravens or not, but what she could definitely say was that she came in all shapes and sizes.

The one who looked most like their leader, a tall boy in a dark blue cap, who carried himself with an air of confidence, stepped forward; "My friends tell me that you've been sent by Professor Layton with a present for the Black Ravens."

This was not actually true, as Rosa had not sought out Layton's permission to bring Gizmo here, but she played into it anyway.

"I am a friend of the Professor's, yes, and I do have a present for whichever children in this town could care for it best," she said.

"You're lucky we found you then. I am Crow and these are my Ravens. We are… very well versed in caring for precious objects," the boy replied.

"I hope that to be the case, young man, because this poor little guy has been neglected for quite some time," Rosa commented, reaching down to lift Gizmo out of her bag.

She could see the looks of intrigue on the children's faces at the sight of the robot dog. They'd clearly never seen anything like it and wanted to have a closer look. Several of them did, creeping forward from the group.

Crow raised an eyebrow; "Professor Layton sent us a toy dog?"

"You don't have to take it if you don't want it," Rosa retorted.

"Please can we keep him, Crow?" one of the kids chimed, "He looks like a lot of fun."

The impression that Rosa got from the boy called Crow was that he was the sort of person who would much rather work on something practical than stop to play, but at the same time wanted what was best for his friends.

"Very well," Crow sighed, shaking his head.

"Thanks, Crow, you're the best," another one of the group chimed, as they all surged forward for a closer look.

"His name is Gizmo," Rosa informed them, "Though I should imagine he wouldn't object too much if you wanted to change his name. There's a little on-and-off switch just there that you can activate him with. He doesn't do much more than yap and run around, a bit like a real dog, but he has a talent for finding any hint coins that might be about."

"Hint coins? I think your Professor cleared the whole town out of those the last time he was here," Crow chuckled, as the other members of his gang flicked the switch and laughed in delight as Gizmo whirred to life, barking at them, "But all the same, the Black Ravens will take good care of this little guy. Tell him that we appreciate his gift."

"I'll pass on the message," Rosa agreed, closing her suitcase, "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to get back to."

She bid herself farewell, watching just for a moment as the joyful children played with the little dog. She would miss Gizmo a bit, but knew that he was better off with people who would look after him and not forget about him. And perhaps when these children got older and didn't care for toys anymore, they'd pass him onto their children too. Rosa very much hoped that would be the cycle his life would take. It was best for him.

Once she returned to Layton's home in London, she found the Professor stood in his study with that vaguely confused look he had about his face he always had after she had recently cleaned any of the rooms.

"Rosa, is something missing from here?" he asked, as she walked through the door.

Putting down her suitcase, she answered, "I did do a bit of spring cleaning, yes."

"And you… threw things away?" he inquired, wincing at the thought.

"Only things that I knew you wouldn't use anymore, Professor," she tutted, "And I also found a new home for one thing."

"Not the charity shops," Layton gasped, after having been victim on more than one occasion of Rosa sending his old belongings off there.

"Not this time, though there is nothing wrong with giving something you don't need away to a good cause," Rosa replied, sternly, "I'll have you know that I took that robot dog of yours to that Misthallery place you're always talking about and the children there very much appreciated the gift."

"Gizmo? But he was my… my dog. You had no right to take him without asking," Layton muttered.

Shaking her head, Rosa said, "Seemed to me like he was just sitting in a cupboard gathering dust. That dog was made to be treated like a pet or a toy or whatever you saw it as and I can't say that you were bothering with him very much at all."

"I suppose not…" admitted Layton, looking away.

Softening a little Rosa reasoned, "He'll be much happier there and if you really want to, you could always go visit him."

"Yes, you're right," mumbled Layton, still not meeting her eyes.

This was another _'that reminded me of Luke and I'm not sure how to deal with the lack of it, even if I had hidden it away on my own accord'_ moment and Rosa was never certain how to deal with those.

"You can talk about it if you want," she offered.

"No, I'm just being silly," Layton sighed, "If you'll excuse me I've got a lot of work to do."

He turned to leave in a hurry.

"That Crow boy said thanks on behalf of the Black Ravens," Rosa called after his retreating figure.

This made Layton stop for a moment and though he didn't look back at her, his tone changed to a much more positive one; "I'm… happy to hear that Gizmo is in their hands. They're a nice bunch. I just hope they don't reprogram him to find money instead of hint coins or we'll all be in trouble."

And with that he was gone.

Having faced the result of her actions, Rosa simply got back to her cleaning. She knew that sometimes sweeping out the old could be hard, but often it was the only way to move on.

Slowly but surely, she was helping the Professor to move on from his losses.


	20. Flora & Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flora starts to believe that being a lady is very boring indeed and seeing the other children playing outside only furthers this belief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after the third game (assumes Luke is visiting).

People often told Flora how lucky she was to have been adopted by a kindly man like Layton.

And for the most part, despite his habits of often leaving her behind on adventures 'for her own safety' and occasionally seeming to forget he even had a daughter at all, Flora was inclined to agree. He was a wonderful person, albeit a little forgetful, and he always made her feel welcome in his home.

He was also the very definition of a gentleman, but that was, sadly, part of the problem.

Flora came from a very wealthy, high-class family prior to living with Layton and although she had spent the first part of her life shut off from society, people had certain expectations of her. These were only heightened by being taken in by a well-known gentleman like Layton.

People would look at her and think, "She's the daughter of such a charming gentleman, so she must be a very well mannered lady herself."

For the most part, Flora tried hard to uphold that image people had of her. She tried to dress in a manner that was ladylike and she was always polite to everyone she met, but deep down inside she really wasn't sure she had all of the required skills to be a lady.

Ladies were dainty little things, check. She had never been very tall and always held herself with poise and grace.

Ladies were always thankful when a gentleman assisted them, check again. Seeing as she was kidnapped often enough, Flora was definitely very thankful whenever Layton and Luke came to rescue her from the clutches of an evil-doer.

Ladies were expected to be good in the kitchen… not check.

While Flora tried ever so hard to come up with new and creative recipes, the fact remained that nothing she produced was ever at all edible. She was the only person in the world who could turn a cucumber sandwich into a torture device without trying to. And while she put on a brave face and pretended everything had gone exactly as planned, part of her really worried if she'd ever be able to cook.

And what sort of wife would she one day make to someone if she couldn't even prepare decent meals?

Although Layton had never expressed that he wanted her to eventually find a husband, and he was always very supportive of whatever choices in life she made, Flora felt that society expected her to find a nice young gentleman to one day be her husband, who she would care for, while he went out to win the bread everyday.

Society rather expected a lot of Flora.

She was starting to question if she owed being a lady to anyone at all, but at the same time she didn't want to let the Professor down…

Secretly, Flora envied the girls who did not have such expectations upon them. She'd often see that large Belle girl chase Luke down the street. Now there was a girl who wasn't a lady and didn't have society pressuring her to be one. And other than Belle, Luke seemed to have a lot of friends who were girls, but not ladylike ones such as Flora. She'd see them occasionally and Luke would tell her that they were kids he'd known from Misthallery, members of something called the Black Ravens. There were two girls she saw amongst that group, Wren and Marilyn, neither of them as brash as Belle, but also neither of them ladies – playing tag with the boys and getting all dirty, but at the same time still being very pretty. If only she could be like them, Flora would think to herself.

By far the one she envied the most was another girl from Misthallery, but not a member of the Black Ravens, called Arianna. She was born into the same situation as Flora – a rich girl who had lost her parents at a young age. But unlike Flora, she hadn't been adopted by a renowned gentleman and had no expectations upon her to become a lady. According to Luke, Arianna had once shut herself off from other people, but would now happily play with the rest of the children. She somehow managed to look like a young lady should do without putting any effort into it or having to hold back from playing with outside with everyone else. And Luke was awfully fond of her, too.

That was one thing that Flora wasn't jealous about, however. She'd never seen Luke as anything other than a friend and was somewhat amused by how embarrassed he'd get whenever the subject of Arianna came up. The only pang of jealousy she had in that regard was because boys seemed to like girls like Arianna or Wren or Marilyn, without them having to put on airs or graces. Maybe because the three of them would play boyish game and boys liked girls who were on their level? Would that make them the wrong sort of boys for Flora to be interested in? Did she have to wait around for boring boys who were considered acceptable by society but never had any fun?

She sighed to herself, taking another failed batch of scones out of the oven as she watched Luke play with his friends out of the window.

"Are you okay, Miss Flora?"

Turning around, Flora was faced with a small boy, who was wiping his muddy face on his sleeve. It was Arianna's brother, Tony.

"Yes, I'm very well thank you," Flora replied, because that was the sort of thing that a lady was expected to say, "Shouldn't you be outside playing with the others?"

"I was," Tony agreed, still trying to clean off his face, "But then I fell into a muddy puddle, so Arianna told me to come inside and clean myself up. Big sisters can be so bossy sometimes."

"I can imagine," Flora laughed.

"Why don't you come out and play with us?" Tony asked, suddenly.

Flora hesitated; "Well… it looks rather muddy out there today."

"But that's part of the fun!" Tony assured her, "You can run around and then you go 'splash' into a big puddle and everyone else goes, 'eugh!' because they've got all covered in dirt!" He made exaggerated arm movements to go along with his sound effects; Flora couldn't help herself but continue to chuckle at him.

"That does sound very fun," she dismissed, "But then who would make the scones?" Tony glanced at the steaming lumps of overcooked dough on the tray in a way that looked so doubtful, Flora added, "I suspect that Luke has told you about my cooking…"

"They don't look that bad to me," Tony lied, grabbing one from the tray and stuffing it into his mouth.

"Careful, they're still very hot!" Flora warned.

He didn't seem to mind however, chewing quickly and swallowing, before stating, "They're all right, actually. They've got lots of burnt bits on and the burnt bits are my favourite parts, because they're all crunchy."

"Um, thank you," mumbled Flora, assuming this was a compliment.

"You're welcome. Well, it looks like my face is all clean now, don't you think?" Tony asked, looking up for her inspection. In truth, it just looked like he'd spread the dirt around, but she didn't say anything in reply, so he continued; "I'm going to go outside and play again. You should come out to play with us, Miss Flora. You're really nice and everyone would like you."

"Oh, but a lady does not play out on a day like this," Flora sighed.

"Being a lady must be very boring then," Tony answered, "But if you change your mind we'll all be waiting."

He then dashed off to rejoin Luke, Arianna and the kids from the Black Ravens outside.

She watched him go and thought to herself that, yes, being a lady could be rather boring indeed.

"Professor, I'm going out to play with the others," Flora called, heading to the hallway to fetch her coat and wellington boots – one may start to be a rebel, but one should also try one's best to look clean, after all.

"Very well, Flora," Layton replied, from his study.

He walked over the door to watch Flora leave, observing as she shouted to Tony to wait up for her, and smiled to himself. In truth, he'd been quite worried that Flora would never mix with the others. The kids from Misthallery were a nice lot, all close to Flora's age and easy to get along with. He had no doubts that she would make friends among them easily.

In truth, despite what society may think, Layton had never wanted Flora to have to be a refined young lady – he'd just wanted her to be happy; doing what came naturally to her. Just like how he was happy being a gentleman, because that was what came naturally to him.

Outside, Flora laughed as Tony demonstrated his skills at jumping in the mud, splashing the dresses of both Flora and his protesting sister, Arianna.

Who was to say that ladies couldn't have a bit of fun, anyway?


	21. Clive & OC (not shipping)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young girl comes to London, inspired by the potential political change Clive's rampage has sparked. But perhaps she is putting more faith in him than she realises…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set pos-PL3

After the near-destruction of London on that day that would not be soon forgotten, it was impossible to hide the whole story of the giant fortress and what had caused its creation from the media. Some of the more absurd details could be glossed over, but for the most part, people wanted to know the answers behind the mechanical contraption that had climbed up out of the ground and took the lives of many.

The short answer, the one that a certain political group led by Bill Hawks wanted everyone to believe, was that this was the work of a "bad guy" who had kidnapped the Prime Minister and, in his madness, tried to destroy the city.

But that didn't stop the questions. The press demanded to know why exactly this crazed person had done what he had done and what it was about Bill Hawks that he hated so much.

To make matters worse, there were a great many witnesses to the event now drifting about, few of whom refrained from telling their stories. All the people who had been held in the underground copy of London did not keep quiet. And while, to his credit, Hershel Layton did not actually tell the full story to anyone, other people who had been involved did not feel such a need not to let the world know of all the crimes – committed by both Clive and Bill.

So over time, in bits and pieces, the full story of Bill Hawks started to become public knowledge.

His supporters tried hard to discredit it as a conspiracy theory, and some people believed them, but there were enough mixed beliefs from the potential voters for Mr. Hawks to not be able to guarantee his next term in office.

And where there were never any before, supporters of Clive Dove began to emerge.

It wasn't a huge following - because what sane person would support a mad man who had killed many? - but it was sizeable enough to get some media notice and put worry among the average citizens of London. Because the sort of people who felt the need to support the work of a murderer like Clive must be quite radical themselves.

A young girl called Sam, a mousy little thing who had recently moved to London from up north, felt that saying all of Clive's supporters were maniacs was a bit unfair. Sure, there were plenty of them who would egg buildings where Bill was due to appear or graffiti messages about "bringing the truth to light" all over London, but there were also a lot of normal people, who just felt there might have been some truth to all those horrible things the Prime Minister had done that had been covered up over the years.

She liked to think of herself among the latter part of Clive's supporters.

Even the label "Clive's supporters" seemed wrong to her, however. She did not know Clive as a person. Anything she knew about him had been through the newspapers, most of which focused heavily upon the heinous crimes that he had committed. So she couldn't say that she supported him so much as she believed the negative press about Bill and didn't think he was fit to run the country.

And yet, at the same time…

Sam would look at photos of Clive Dove in the papers, a sullen creature, now watching the world from behind bars, and see a boy who looked about the same age as her. Having come from a rather sheltered rural country life, Sam could never imagine doing all of the things that Clive had done at the age he was. She could never imagine hating the world as much as he did. So she almost felt that she was drawn in by the mystery behind him, like it seemed many other young girls were. Clive had quite a lot of female followers.

Maybe that was part of the reason why she'd come to London. After spending her whole life shut away from anything important happening in the world, she sort of wanted to see what life was like in the political heart of the country.

Largely, it was disappointingly similar to the rural life – get a job, find somewhere to live, and make enough money to get by. At least in the city there were more job opportunities and marginally more places to live than there had been back home. But after months of living in a flat, eating meals consisting almost entirely of canned soup and other things that didn't involve too much cooking, one does begin to wonder why one's bothering.

There were no means for Sam to find out anything more about the subject of Bill Hawks and Clive Dove beyond what was presented in the newspapers or debated on the radio. She liked listening to talk shows where occasionally one of Clive's supporters would phone in to voice their opinions; but they were, for the most part, discredited by the presenters and tended to present their views badly. If only someone who knew how to compose a believable argument would take the stand. Would Clive himself know what to say if he was here? Did he even realise what debate he'd started, for that matter?

Whether he did or didn't, Sam had no doubt that he knew about his supporters. Because one of the reasons that it was impossible to get a chance to talk to Clive was because everyone else was trying to as well. People wanted to know what he had to say, both those in favour of and against him. But it was public knowledge that Clive did not accept visits from more than a handful of people – an old couple, Cogg and Spring, as well as a man called Shipley, who had all apparently helped him during his life, and also he was rumoured to receive visits from Professor Layton himself. The first three all received protection from the police in regards to their privacy, so the press did not get any information out of them, and Layton was known for being silent on the subject. In general, that man was getting in the newspapers for enough reasons of his own, regardless, when it came to solving the many mysteries that he did.

For the most part, there was no direct line to Clive. And even his followers had been hard enough to find. A group known for being so violently opposed to the Prime Minister does not directly advertise where they're having their coffee mornings. It took a long time to track even a small band of followers to a broken down warehouse, where Sam had soon discovered that this sort of thing was not for her. The group mostly consisted of crazed youths who wanted to damage public property more than support a movement and rather confused girls who had no idea why they were really there in the first place, but just felt inside themselves that Clive was a good person.

It was the girls who annoyed Sam the most. She could pass off the junkies as being just that, but she could not understand why reasonable young ladies would tell themselves so convincingly that deep down inside, Clive was a pure, misguided soul, who would definitely do the right thing if only he had someone like them to stand by him and support him. They seemed to casually overlook the bit about him going on a rampage that killed many innocent people.

How could they be so dumb?

She didn't even want to consider that maybe, just maybe, she was actually jealous of them for feeling the same way that she did. Not that she found Clive attractive, because she didn't, but if she did, then it was rather annoying to see that there was nothing unique about that desire – because so many others wanted exactly the same thing that she did. Only she didn't, because she definitely didn't like Clive and that was final.

He was just an intriguing guy who knew truths that she wanted to know, and that was all there was to it.

Needless to say, Sam didn't last long in that group. Eventually deciding not to go to the meetings anymore, because she couldn't stand listening to crazed men rage on about setting fire to whatever building they felt it was important to set fire to and equally crazed girls swooning about how they could fix Clive with their love.

And so it was back to just living in a flat, having a minimum wage job, and just getting by without any meaning to life.

If not meaning, at least she managed to find enough to do to keep her occupied. She liked visiting the parks, specifically one Roundabout Park, near Gildon Bridge.

It was at said Gildon Bridge that she regularly encountered a plump man with a moustache called Barton, who went there quite often to fish. People said that he was a policeman and his work was apparently very important, but Sam saw him fishing off the bridge so often that she wondered if he ever turned up to work at all. Regardless of if he did or he didn't, he was a pleasant enough fellow, who was always willing to talk, so she'd often find herself stopping for a chat as she past by.

On one such day, he happened to be listening to what looked like a portable radio he had brought with him.

"The Inspector says that I need to keep up with what's going on in the world," Barton told her, referring, as he often would, to this mysterious man in charge of his work, "So I figured why not bring out the radio, so I can work while on my days off, too?"

"If you say so," Sam laughed. It looked more like he just wanted to listen to the radio to her. As the announcer made way for a familiar talk show, she then added, "Oh, can you turn this up?"

"You like this show? I thought it was just a bunch of crazies rambling on about how they want to bring down the Prime Minister. You're not… one of these crazies who want to kill the Prime Minister, are you?" he said, in the tone of someone who really didn't want to have to arrest a political radical on his day off.

"N-no, of course not! I just think that… what they have to say is interesting, that's all," she murmured, hoping that sounded convincing enough.

There was a pause in which they both listened to a call-in shouting at an amused radio presenter, then Barton commented, "I really don't think they get what that guy was trying to do."

"Be a twisted psycho who tried to destroy London, if you ask most people," confirmed Sam. She had passed off Barton as having the same view on the subject as Bill's supporters, seeing as he was in the police force.

"No, I think he had his motives right, even if he went about it in a really disgusting and harmful way. No one doubts that he's mad, but maybe he was more right about the Prime Minister than a lot of people realise," Barton replied.

"You really think so?" Sam asked, slightly shocked.

"Not on the record, no. None of us are allowed to believe very much on the record. But after everything we saw, the Inspector and myself don't think he was… um, nearly as much of a bad apple as Bill Hawks is, anyway," answered Barton.

This was about the only thing he could have said that could have furthered her disbelief.

"So you've actually met him?" she gaped.

"Not just met him, I was one of the people running around that underground London trying to stop him," Barton said, proudly. Then realisation hit and he added, in a more timid tone, "I probably shouldn't have told you that. The Inspector won't be happy with me…"

Sam was quick on the up-take; "I promise I won't tell anyone anything. Just… you need to let me know more about him."

"You _are_ one of those crazy types, aren't you?" Barton cautiously enquired.

"No, I'm really not. But I believe that Bill Hawks was doing horrible things and that Clive was trying to stop him. No one seems to know anything; even the people who support Clive are clueless. And I don't want to support him at all, I just want to know why he did what he did to the Prime Minister," Sam babbled, a little too fast for someone trying to prove that they weren't crazy.

"I think you're asking the wrong person, Miss," mumbled Barton, clearly nervous, "I'm just a humble policeman. It's the Inspector who has all the real political opinions and knows all the facts."

"Then can I talk to the Inspector?" Sam pleaded.

"Of course not! He'd give me the boot if he knew that I've told you even as much as I have. The Inspector is also a very busy man, what with all those crimes he has to solve and making sure none of those reporters sneak into try to get information out of Mr. Dove, so he doesn't have time to just have a chat," huffed Barton.

"Your Inspector deals with who does and doesn't get to speak to Clive?" checked Sam, face splitting into a grin.

"Yes, but you can get any ideas right out of your head! The only people allowed to talk to him are his three friends and the Professor. He doesn't want to see anyone else," Barton replied.

"That's a shame…" Sam sighed, shoulders drooping, "I thought that I'd finally get a chance to talk to him."

"A lot of girls want to talk to him," observed Barton.

"I'm not like one of those stupid bimbos who want to save him with their love, I swear," protested Sam.

"No, I wouldn't say you are a bimbo, Miss. But all the same he doesn't want to have any visitors," Barton confirmed.

"Not even visitors who know what time of day you can catch a Thames Kingfin?" Sam checked.

"Are you trying to bribe an officer off-duty?" Barton gasped.

"Of course not, I'd never do that," replied Sam, suddenly realising saying anything that could potentially get her arrested was a very bad idea right now.

"I thought not," Barton scolded, "Though, he does always look very lonely, you know. I never really talk to him much, don't have a lot to say to him, but it's a bad situation for a lad that age to be in. So it's a shame he doesn't get more company than he does."

"Are you implying…?" Sam asked, leaving the end of the sentence hanging for Barton to fill in the blank with whatever it was he was implying.

"I'm saying that he's usually available on Tuesday afternoons, just before the Professor goes to talk to him. So if you really, really want to talk to him and promise that you're not crazy, then I could try to sneak you in. As long as you don't tell the Inspector," Barton answered, uncertainly.

"I'm not crazy and I won't tell the Inspector, promise," Sam agreed. She didn't even know anything about the Inspector, not even his name, so that part at least wouldn't be hard.

"Very well then, I'll see what I can do," Barton assured her, "Though I can't be sure that he'll even talk to you; but if you want to give it a try then by all means."

"Thank you so much, Barton!" Sam squealed, unable to hide her glee.

"You're welcome. Now, about that Thames Kingfin…"

The rest of the week seemed to go by rather quickly (and apparently with a few successful fishing trips by Barton) before the next Tuesday came around and Sam was being escorted through the prison.

Considering everything she'd heard about the tight security in the place, it involved a lot less sneaking around than she had expected. But then, for all anyone knew, she might be coming to visit any prisoner in here, not specifically one that she shouldn't be seeing.

Barton walked ahead, with a confidence that suggested his Inspector was dealing with other matters today and therefore he wasn't at any risk of being caught doing something he shouldn't. It was only when he led her through to the screened room that he began to look a little nervous.

He told Sam to wait on the seat, and then disappeared for a few minutes. As he came back to rejoin her, two officers walked through a door on the opposite side of the screen, escorting the one person Sam had wanted to see the most during all her time in London…

…Clive Dove.

The papers hadn't even shown the half of how weary and haggard he looked. And as he was led to his seat, his eyes widened in shock.

"You're not Professor Layton," he growled at Sam, then glared at Barton for an explanation.

"Th-the Professor will be along later, like he always is," Barton squeaked, "But this girl wanted to talk to-"

"And what makes her different from any of the other people who want to talk to me?" Clive cut in, "Why would you let her in here? I bet Chelmey didn't clear this! I don't want to have to justify my actions to strangers!"

"You don't have to justify anything to me," Sam assured him quickly, "I don't care about what was running through your head when you tried to level London, I just want to know if what people are saying you've said about Bill Hawks is true."

There was a moment in which Clive seemed to observe her. She felt very nervous under his scrutiny, but at the same time couldn't help but pay attention to how intense his eyes looked, how, even as ragged as he was, there was something almost charming about his appearance, and how… how… she could almost see what all those deluded girls found appealing about him.

Breaking the silence, Clive commented, "You're a Geordie, aren't you."

He smirked in a belittling manner.

"A Northumbrian, actually," she heard herself say.

"What's the difference?" he snorted.

"A… a whole lot of class!" Sam assured him.

"I'll bet," he dismissed, "So what does anyone that far up the country care about what I think of Bill Hawks?"

"What you did affected all of England," Sam informed, surprised that she even had to, "Everyone cares about it, even if it's just so far as to think you deserve to stay here for the rest of your life."

"I know," Clive replied, "But I'm still not seeing why I should tell you anything."

"Because there are people out there who think they understand what you were trying to do, but they really don't get you at all. If only you could take a stand and let them know exactly what it was that Bill Hawks has done to hurt the country, using the right words, then maybe more people might understand you," she protested.

Still grinning, Clive hummed, "And who would relay my words to them while I sit here in a cell? Do you think you could do it?"

"Well… I think that… that I have a better grasp on what you were trying to do than the rest of those girls do…" she mumbled.

"Why do you think that? What makes you think you know anything about me at all? What makes you better than any of the other girls? Were your parents brutally murdered by the stupidity of politicians and scientists? I can rather imagine not," Clive chided.

Trying hard to keep calm, Sam offered, "If you could tell me, then maybe I could understand…"

"Again, why should I tell you instead of any of the other girls who want to help me?" repeated Clive.

"Because they're only doing it because they fancy you! I really believe in what you stand for!" yelled Sam.

Raising an eyebrow, Clive checked, "Are you sure you're not just doing this because you fancy me? Do you really care about what Bill Hawks has done or did you just see my picture in the papers and thought that such a pretty guy could do no wrong?"

"I… I… I don't! I swear that I don't…!" Sam cried.

"What did you think about Bill Hawks before that, then?" asked Clive.

"N-not very much… He was just the Prime Minister; I didn't care much either way. But you made me see what a horrible person he is," sniffed Sam.

"I'm not the first person whose spoke against him, you know. But I guess you didn't listen to any of the others because they were all old and stuffy. You just want to listen to me because maybe I'll like you one day if you do. Well I'm sorry, but you're wasting your time. I've done my piece and don't want to entertain stupid girls with false hopes now that it's over. If you really, truly believe that Bill Hawks is bad, then protest against him in your own way. You and all those others could do to stop regarding me like some kind of god that can fix all your problems," said Clive.

"I don't think you're a god at all! Talking to you has only showed me what a foul person you truly are!" snapped Sam.

"Yes, I am a terrible person who has done unforgiveable things. What's your point?" asked Clive.

Sam hesitated; "My point… my point is that you went to those lengths because you believed that Bill was a monster who needed to be stopped. And people have started to listen to you because of what you did. You can't just give up now, if stopping him meant that much to you."

After hearing this, Clive looked suddenly more distant than he had done at any point during the conversation so far.

"My work was my life to me. After finding out there were people to blame for what happened that day, there was nothing else I could devote my life to but to bring them to justice. And I was wrong. A man who really matters showed me that. A man who understood my pain, even if he hated me for what I did. He's the person I choose to talk to about this, not some Geordie rat off the streets," Clive replied.

"So you're giving up on putting a stop to Bill? If he really did kill your family, then the world should know that he's a murderer!" Sam growled.

"No. My situation is not yours to choose who should know about it. What I did was wrong and I want no further part in trying to protest against Bill Hawks. Regardless of how I feel about him, my priority is to make up to society for my mistakes," Clive told her.

"And you could make up for your mistakes by letting people know about the monster who killed people and then hushed it up for his own gain!" argued Sam.

"If you hate him so much, then do it yourself, you stupid girl! As I've been saying all along that you should do! You might have overlooked this in your infatuation, but I killed far more people than he did during my rampage. But I guess its okay that I did it, because you think I'm pretty, right?" said Clive, his tone laced with disgust.

He thought she was just like one of those girls who went to protest meetings, even though they knew nothing about him… He really thought that.

And then, the quite horrible realisation hit that, actually, maybe she was one of those girls after all.

What had she cared about politics before seeing a boy like Clive arrested? Would she have been concerned about the rumours of the crimes Bill had committed, if the person who had been at the core of them was not as attractive Clive? Or would she have just passed it off as another political scandal that she had no interest in and gone back to her everyday country life?

A young girl like her, travelling half way across the country, just because she believed that she could do something to help a boy who she had never met before?

That was just stupid.

And she was stupid for thinking that it had been anything deeper than what any other girl felt in regards to Clive. He was really just a bitter young man who didn't deserve the attention he got from anyone at all.

She vaguely heard Clive prompting her to speak, but realised that she was sobbing too loudly to make out what he was saying.

In this sudden rush of overwhelming emotions, Sam pulled herself up from the chair, almost smashing into Barton, who she'd quite forgotten was there, and then dashed to get away from the room.

All that she wanted right now was to put as much distance between her and the boy who had called her out for what she really was as she possibly could.

By the time she'd reached the front desk, the need to breathe, combined with how difficult crying loudly made it to do so, caught up with her and she bent over double, letting the emotions subside enough to allow air to get through.

"Miss, please wait up- …Oh, you've stopped running," she heard Barton say. She nodded, still trying to get her breath back, so Barton offered, "You should take a seat here, give yourself a moment."

Without objection, Sam stumbled over to one of the chairs in the waiting room and sat down; ignoring the stares she was getting from the woman behind the desk and other people waiting to go through to visit inmates. It appeared that Barton wasn't too concerned about them either, as he sat on a chair next to her.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" she choked out, wiping her tears away.

"No, I'm sorry. It was a bad idea to bring you to talk to him in the first place," Barton replied, "I thought that if maybe he could talk to someone who believed in him, and you seemed pretty sensible…"

Lifting up her face, looking at him through red eyes, Sam commented, "I think he had a better judge on my character than that…"

"There's a nasty way to put things and a nice way. I guess you shouldn't expect a guy who tried to destroy London to use the nice way," replied Barton.

"Yeah…" mumbled Sam.

"He's right, though," Barton continued, "Not about you being stupid, as most folks who are honest will admit to having liked the wrong person at some point, but about how you shouldn't rely on him. Maybe you are one of those people who protest against Bill Hawks, and I won't think less of you if you are, but you can't blindly believe that one man will solve your problems. If the Prime Minister really has hushed up all these crimes he's committed, then the truth will out, as they say."

"Y-you're right," Sam agreed, feeling herself calming down a bit now, "It might have taken a pretty face to get me to notice, but that doesn't mean I don't think what Bill Hawks did was wrong. I can… I can still help…"

"That's the spirit," replied Barton, then he looked up from where they were sat, "Oh, it looks like the Professor is here for his meeting with Clive now. This is going to be an interesting afternoon… Would you excuse me?"

Sam nodded; "By all means."

She watched the portly policeman go over to greet the famed Professor Layton, who looked over at her curiously, before being told everything was fine and led away by Barton. Great, as well as looking like an idiot in front of Clive, one of London's biggest celebrities had just seen her with her face all red and puffy from crying.

She found that she wasn't upset about that. In fact, she thought it was pretty funny.

When you've hit the bottom of the barrel and scraped the truth from around the edges, there's only one place you could go from there…

It was a little more than a week later when Sam thought that she had had composed her speech well enough to make her actual final appearance among the small rally of Clive's supporters that she had once attended.

Somehow, they let her take the stage. Perhaps there was nothing else scheduled that day and they figured that a good pep-talk was better than nothing. She'd not mentioned to any of them about her meeting with Clive and doubted that they would have believed her even if she had, anyway.

"Clive Dove is a terrible person who took the lives of many," Sam opened her speech with.

"I thought you were one of us!" someone from the audience protested.

"Maybe I am one of you. Or one of some of you, anyway. Because I believe that the Prime Minister is a also a vile man who is not fit to rule a country, like I would hope that most of you do too," she countered, before going on, "But that doesn't change that what Clive did was wrong. Perhaps you think that the people who were crushed in his rampage were necessary sacrifices for a greater good, but would you think the same if you spoke to their families? It's no wonder people hate what we stand for, because what we stand for is a murderer. But Bill Hawks murdered people too. People who have families. People like Clive, who thought that revenge was the only answer. Who's to say that surviving victims of Clive's rampage won't repeat his actions in years to come? We need to stop standing up for the Clives of the world, who think that violence is the only answer, and instead stand up for showing the world that everything bad that Bill Hawks has done isn't a lie. Because that's the important part, not Clive. If any of you really believe in making a better London, then perhaps you'll see that setting bus stops on fire in Clive's name is the wrong way to do it," she paused, "Though I suspect that most of you will probably ignore this, anyway. But I've said my part and this will be the last I have to do with these meetings. Good day to you all."

As she left the stage, Sam received the expected level of jeers and half-formed arguments of people trying to justify what they were doing when put on the spot. But they didn't faze her, as she finally knew what she felt was right.

And among the crowd of maddened junkies and deluded girls, there were a few people, people like Sam, who had come here because they weren't sure what they believed, but were too scared to speak up, who heard what she was saying. In their minds, the seed of doubt about their belief in Clive, as opposed to their beliefs in a London free from Bill's rule, were planted.

Sam didn't stay to see the end of the meeting, as she had much better things to do that afternoon. Such as taking a detour towards Gildon Bridge, where she found Barton fishing once again.

"No Thames Kingfin at this time of day or even in this part of the river," she called, joining him.

"But there's good fishing here, all the same," replied Barton, "Hello, Miss."

"Hello to you too," said Sam, looking out across the river.

"You seem in much better spirits today," he noted.

"I am, all thanks to you. I'm sorry about what happened at the prison… But I've learned from my mistakes, because of what you said. And what Clive said…" she informed.

"Glad to hear it," Barton said, checking his line for any signs of fish.

"And, um, I went to talk with some protestors, like you said. About how we shouldn't worship Clive," Sam began.

Nodding, before he cast his line out again, Barton checked, "How did it go?"

"Well-"

"Excuse me?"

Both of them turned around to see a tall and gangly girl hovering behind them. She radiated an air of feeling awkward about intruding upon their conversation. Or about intruding upon anyone's conversations anywhere, for that matter.

"Yes, Miss?" Barton offered.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to the girl. Um, I'm sorry, I don't know your name…" she mumbled.

"The name's Sam," Sam replied, "And its okay, you can talk to me if you like."

"Um, you see… I-I was at the meeting you just spoke at and I wanted to know more about what you said," the girl told her, "So I followed you here. I, eh, don't think that I was the only one who did, either…"

Raising their heads a little further, Sam and Barton both caught sight of a few other people, all trying hard not to be seen. Sam had to admit that she didn't recognise their faces from the meetings, but they all looked as if they tried hard not to be noticed as much as possible anyway. Beyond that similarity, the selection of people who had apparently stalked her all the way here couldn't look any more different from each other in terms of shape and size if they tried. It wasn't just girls either, some of the boys who she might have otherwise passed off as junkies had followed as well.

"We don't want to egg statues or anything," promised a particularly spotty boy, stepping forward, "We just want to know if everything the newspapers keep saying about Bill Hawks covering stuff up is true."

"As they say, the truth will out," Sam replied, briefly smiling at Barton, for stealing that phrase from him, "If Bill Hawks has anything to hide, then I don't think it would be impossible to find out about it, especially not now."

"But we can't ask Clive about what he knows…" whispered an actually quite attractive looking lady, who Sam would definitely have passed off as _girl-who-is-just-confused-by-her-feelings-for-Clive_ before today.

"We don't need to," Sam assured her, "I meant what I said back there – we shouldn't rely on Clive. He's far from the only person who has been hurt by the Prime Minister's actions and I'm sure that, if we looked hard enough, we could find reliable information."

"Do you really think we can? Do you think we can make a difference?" the first girl asked.

"Only you know if you can make a difference," answered Sam, mentally kicking herself for how corny that sounded as she said it, "But if all of you believe in this, then I don't see why we couldn't help each other."

"So you'll arrange for us to meet somewhere?" the spotty boy enquired.

"Well, I didn't say that…" mumbled Sam.

"I'll let you get on," Barton laughed, "It seems you've got a lot of work with your new political movement to get on with."

"You're not going to arrest us for this, are you?" Sam checked.

"Wouldn't dream of it. As long as you promise you aren't crazy," Barton joked.

"I… can't make any guarantees, but I'll try not to be," she answered, "But the good man is right, we've got a lot to be getting on with, some come on, the lot of you. My flat is pretty small, but it should be a good enough place for a first meeting, providing the landlord doesn't catch us."

The merry band of mismatched supporters of a London free of men like Bill Hawks and Clive Dove went on their way, leaving Barton to get on with his fishing, chuckling over some of the things he sees that he could never tell the Inspector about.

There were only a few of them, but they believed in the truth and that was enough to make a start.

What they didn't believe in, was Clive. Sam now knew that she had followed him blindly because she had misguided feelings for him, just like many of the other girls, but now she knew for definite that he wasn't the perfect person that deep down inside she wanted to believe that he was. And she could help build a better England without his help, thank you very much.

And maybe if other people stopped worshipping him, they could too.

Or at least, she very much hoped so.


	22. Layton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton muses over his love for a good cup of tea.

Few things satisfy like a puzzle solved.

And one of those things was a piping hot cup of tea.

Professor Layton was used to having to drop what he was doing at any given moment, to chase after a criminal or dash off to solve a mystery at short notice; but out of everything he would put on hold to go have an adventure, drinking tea was something he liked to take his time with if he could help it. Of course, there were some occasions that would even call for afternoon tea to be interrupted, but thankfully for Layton, these were few and far between.

Regardless, going on an adventure didn't always mean that he wouldn't have time for tea anyway. It helps the mind and, if his visit to Folsense was anything to judge from, often helps other people as well. Some of his fondest memories of that particular trip had been brewing new types of tea with Luke, both successfully and a few less than spectacular attempts to make tea that they both agreed never to speak of again. This proved not to be a waste, as many of the residents ended up being quite helpful once the duo had provided them with the right kind of tea.

Though in the eyes of Layton, there were very few brands of tea that weren't the right kind. While he was often noted for enjoying a good cup of Earl Grey, this was far from the only brand that he would go for. He also indulged in many others, such as Darjeeling, Oolong, Peppermint, herbal teas of many different varieties, and, if he was feeling a little tired, a good cup of Camomile might be just the ticket to help him drift off into an easy sleep.

There was just so much that Layton appreciated about the old cuppa. And he had done his whole life. From when he was a young boy, his parents had been very surprised that instead of rotting his teeth with soft drinks like the other children, they would find their son sipping a warm mug of tea, while filling in the crossword puzzles from his father's newspaper. It was curious behaviour, but he wasn't harming anyone, so they let him get on with it. As he got older, his preferences didn't change – all throughout his teenage years, while he may have made some wild choices in regards to his hair, when it came to what he drunk, he much preferred just sticking to tea, instead of going out to roam the pubs with the other boys.

As an adult, he found his habit was far more accepted by society, not that he'd ever minded too much either way. People viewed him as distinguished for being a gentleman who would partake in such a gentlemanly habit. And he often had people wondering aloud where he picked his love of tea up from – had someone he admired as a child inspired him to drink it? Or perhaps a young lady he liked had told him that drinking tea is what a gentleman does?

The Professor would just smile quietly and continue to sip his tea, letting them come to their own conclusions about the matter.

But from the day he was old enough to handle a cup of brew to quite possibly the day he dies; Professor Layton found that there was no better way to start the day than with a good cup of tea and a crossword puzzle.


	23. Flora & Don Paolo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flora is once again kidnapped by Don Paolo, so she makes a slightly less than successful attempt to save herself without Layton's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime Post-PL3.

"Unhand me right now, you brute!"

"Is that really the best you can come up with? I've heard you make better insults than that plenty of times before," Don Paolo dismissed, as he tried very hard to tie a knot in the rope he was using to keep his hostage in place. It was quite difficult to manage, when said hostage was wriggling about with the intention of not letting him tie her up.

"A lady does not partake in handing out insults when they can be avoided," Flora retorted, before adding, "And if you'd stop kidnapping me so often, then you wouldn't have to listen to them at all."

"The only other option I had in that area is Luke, before he left, and believe me when I say that he's more annoying when you try to hold him captive than you are. Also, you're easier to grab," replied Don Paolo.

"How dare you!" Flora raged, "Well, we both know that you're wasting your time, anyway. The Professor will be here soon enough and he'll beat you, just like he does every time, and then rescue me."

"This time it'll be different!" Don Paolo retorted.

"I suppose you tell yourself that a lot," Flora mocked, "Do you sit in your… cave, or whatever hole you live in, and tell yourself that this next genius plan is going to be the one to stump the Professor once and for all?"

Don Paolo shot back, "One day I will make a plan that works! And for your information, I do not live in a cave!" He lived in an abandoned shack on the edge of London, but that was beside the point.

"If you're so sure, then why don't you tell me what today's plan is?" Flora sighed, "Since you're always so keen on bragging about them."

"I do not brag," Don Paolo informed her. Honestly, half of the time he wondered why he didn't just gag her to shut her up. But, in truth, Flora did contribute towards pretty much the only human conversation Don Paolo had these days. Even if he did have to kidnap her to make conversation and most of that conversation was about how Layton was going to defeat him. But since she asked he told her, "If you must know, my plan today is one that'll impress even you."

He turned away, rummaging through his bag, before pulling out a rubber mask and placing it over his face. He looked like the perfect double of Layton. Or at least, his face did. Which was a little jarring, when attached to Don Paolo's body.

Flora was unimpressed; "You already tried that one."

"Ah, but the last time I dressed up as Layton I was working with him to fool that oaf Dimitri and help my beloved Claire," he informed her, "Today I will be tricking all of Layton's little tagalongs, so that they can't tell me apart from the real deal!"

Flora shook her head, commenting, "You were much nicer when you were working with the Professor to help people. I don't see why you keep up this charade when you could just as easily make friends with him and be better off."

"I could never be friends with a fiend like Layton!" roared Don Paolo, as he pulled the rest of the costume out of his trunk, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready to confront my guest."

He left the room, leaving Flora to stew in her annoyance at the situation. She hated that she was always the one who got kidnapped and that the others always had to come save her. With each and every new adventure, she always promised herself that she'd try harder to be useful, only to find that, once again, she'd been kidnapped. It wasn't always by Don Paolo, since the kindly Professor had made many other enemies over the years, but he was the most frequent offender. And over time, she'd stopped being scared of him, as Flora knew, without a doubt, that Layton would come to save her in the end. So instead, she just got angry at her own incompetence.

Looking around, Flora tried to determine exactly where she was, without much luck. It was a dusty and bare room, with most of the remaining furniture covered by yellowing sheets. From that, she guessed this was probably one of the many unoccupied houses that dominated the outskirts of London – too expensive for the average person too afford, but not impressive enough for someone of the upper-classes to consider buying. Often, she wondered if Don Paolo had memorised all of the unoccupied buildings in the city, because he never seemed to have trouble finding somewhere to hide her whenever he took her hostage.

As she listened carefully, she heard the creaking of floorboards and presumed it was Don Paolo walking around in one of the other rooms. Since he was apparently distracted, she started trying to force her arms free of the bindings, without much luck. Oh well, she'd just have to wait here until the others came to save her…

For a moment, Flora allowed herself to drift into the fantasy of what might happen if she did manage to get out of this on her own. Surely, if she could just untie herself, then she could find something amongst the scattered junk in this room that she could use as a weapon. Not with the intention of causing any real damage, however, because that wasn't what a lady did, but just enough to knock Don Paolo out, so that when the Professor arrived, he would be most impressed by how well she could look after herself. Maybe if Inspector Chelmey was there, then he could finally arrest Don Paolo and Flora might get a medal for her good wor-

…There was a yell from down the stairs.

Leaning forward, Flora tried hard to listen to what was going on. Though she couldn't hear what was being said, there were raised voices and what sounded like a scuffle. She rather fancied that Don Paolo's disguise wasn't fooling anyone.

Then she heard sharp and heavy thumps on the staircase. It sounded like two people were running up them and towards the room that she was in.

Now that she could hear the voices, Flora recognised the unmistakable tone of the Professor yelling; "Come back here and tell me what you're done with Flora, Paul!"

The other figure seemed to be running silently and didn't reply.

After a moment, she heard the first voice say, "If you've laid a finger to harm her, then I'm afraid that I cannot forgive you!"

Then the door was flung open.

There stood Don Paolo, dressed in a very convincing Layton outfit, eyes widening at the sight of her.

"Flora! Thank goodness you're all right…"

He moved across the room to where she was tied up.

"Don't you dare come near me!" Flora shrieked, "Fool me once, Don Paolo! Just you wait until the real Professor bursts through that door and sorts you out!"

"My dear, I think you're confused," he soothed, kneeling down to untie her.

"Don't touch me!"

On reflex, she kicked out, her foot connecting with his face. Perhaps in his haste, Don Paolo had forgotten to securely bind her legs, but whatever the reason, she was now taking full advantage of her limited freedom to stop this man from causing anymore harm to her.

"Hah!" she cried, triumphantly, as Don Paolo recoiled, clutching his face.

Her victory was short-lived, however, when it became apparent that the other Layton, the one who had been chasing the first Layton and proclaiming he was going to save her, was now standing at the doorway, laughing in a most vile manner.

"This is too rich!" he proclaimed, "There's no way I could have planned for this!"

"Paul, that's quite uncalled for…" muttered the Layton on the floor, the one she had just kicked. He sat up, revealing that one of his eyes was now blackening quite rapidly. The effect this had on his face was profound, making him look like one of his eyes was now much larger than the other.

"Oh…" Flora gasped, as realisation hit her.

"You will release Flora this instant," said the real Layton, the one who was currently getting up off the floor.

"Don't you worry about that," Don Paolo laughed, now not bothering to imitate Layton's voice, despite still wearing the outfit, "I've had more than enough revenge on you for one day, Layton."

"You… you wicked man!" Flora cried, finding that her eyes were now bubbling with tears at her own incompetence.

"Flora, my dear, don't let him upset you," Layton said, soothingly. He walked over to untie her and this time she allowed him to, "You were just trying to defend yourself."

"Just a shame you hit the wrong target," Don Paolo mocked.

"Not another word out of you!" scolded Flora, surprising Layton by pushing past him the moment she was untied and striding over to Don Paolo, "I've a good mind to… to…"

She didn't know what she had a good mind to do that could be expressed in a ladylike manner, but she did know that she very definitely wanted to hit this revolting man and raised her arm to do so.

_Slap!_

Flora found herself staring in disbelief as Don Paolo smacked his hand against her own outstretched palm. Had he just… given her a high five?

"Great work, kid, I could see us making wonderful partners in crime, if you ever got bored of tagging along after Layton," he laughed.

Then, just like that, he was out the door and running down the stairs.

Flora regained her composure enough to yell after him, "I would never abandon the Professor for someone like you!"

She took satisfaction in that he probably heard her, but that was the last she saw of him that day. Good riddance, as far as she was concerned!

Turning around, she allowed the wave of emotions to hit her and ran over to Layton, burying her head in his chest and sobbing loudly.

"Professor… I'm so, so sorry…"

"Don't be, my dear, you made a simple mistake and otherwise did a good job of defending yourself," he assured her.

Looking up at him, eyes brimming with tears, she mumbled, "But I didn't… All he did was mock me…"

"Ah, but you proved that you have the… the raw skill to defend yourself," replied Layton, trying not to wince at the thought of his own black eye, "All you need to do is learn to hone those skills."

"Do you think so? Do you really think that I could learn to defend myself? To be… useful?" Flora asked, brightening up.

"You've always been useful, my dear girl, don't ever doubt yourself about that," Layton replied, smiling down at his daughter, "But if you did ever want to practise defending yourself, then I'm sure I could arrange to help teach you."

"Thank you, Professor!" she cheered.

"Now then, shall we go?" he offered, quietly hoping that he could find an ice-pack to cover his eye with sometime soon.

"Very well," agreed Flora, releasing him from her hug and taking his hand instead, so that the two of them could walk together.

Perhaps there had been… bumps in the road, and most notably a bump on the Professor's face, in regards to her progress in becoming an independent person who could defend herself, but Flora felt that today she had definitely made some progress.

And, despite what Don Paolo might feel, Layton would agree with her about that.


	24. Luke/Crow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke returns to Misthallery as an adult and ends up discovering that life has changed a lot for Crow while he'd been gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL3, when Luke and Crow are adults.

When Luke had first moved away from Misthallery, he assumed that he'd never be going back there, at least not to live. It wasn't because he disliked the place, on the contrary he had many fond childhood memories of it, but as soon as he'd been offered the chance to go stay with Hershel Layton in London, Luke knew that was the life for him.

After living in London for a few years, he'd then moved again, this time to America, because of his father's work placement. This… hadn't been the move that Luke had wanted. His heart was in England and never really adjusted to being away from it. So, as soon as he was old enough, he'd bid his parents goodbye returned to London on his own accord.

Certainly he loved being back and was welcomed into the community with open arms. And yet, over time, he still felt oddly empty about being there. Which confused him, since he knew in himself that London was where he belonged.

He had a heartfelt talk with Layton about this and eventually determined that perhaps he was missing his original home, Misthallery. Because, while he'd been keeping contact with what was going on back in London through his letters to Layton and Flora, he really hadn't heard anything of Misthallery for many years. Even the initial pen pal relationship he'd had with Arianna had, over time, died out.

Layton told him that not knowing anything about what had happened to the place that he'd lived in for the first ten years of his life was probably what was nagging at the back of his mind and, if not to stay there, then Luke should at least visit to put his worries to rest.

Having agreed with his mentor, Luke swiftly set out to visit Misthallery. His father still owned their old house there and was glad to let Luke use it during his stay. He also chose to travel there alone, as it felt right, somehow. He wasn't sure exactly what to expect of the place or how he might react to it, so he wanted to have his space – which Layton and Flora both respected, saying farewell to him for the second time.

As he parked his car at the edge of the town upon arriving (the rope bridges prevented cars from being driven very far into Misthallery), Luke looked upon his old home and felt a wave of familiarity hit him. The place had hardly changed at all, at least not from the outside. Which he really should have expected, given the usual reluctance to change that gripped many rural towns in England. The one difference he did notice was there was now a much larger car park outside, probably to accommodate for more visitors that the Golden Garden had brought to the area upon its public unveiling. That had been years ago though and Luke wondered if it still attracted the attention it once did.

After letting himself stand for a few minutes, he bundled together his luggage and made his way to his parent's old house. It was a good ten minute walk, if you were quick, and allowed Luke to see there had indeed been some changes to Misthallery, though most of them involved repairs or straight up rebuilding done to the houses that had been damaged during Descole's attack. Even Brock's house had now been rebuilt. Luke remembered how that guy had laughed when his house was destroyed and that everyone had thought he was crazy.

It was hard to walk through any part of the town without being hit by a memory of someone or something. Everything meant something to Luke. Perhaps the Professor had been right to tell him to come here.

But as Luke unlocked the door to his old house, he knew that the void hadn't quite been filled just yet. While he'd got a taster of the places he used to frequent, he had not yet seen any of the people he remembered. He'd seen people while walking through the town, of course, but no one that he'd known…

Any dwelling on this point was put on hold by the vast amount of letters littering the floor that made the door hard to open from the outside. Apparently, a few of his parent's old contacts hadn't gotten the message about their change of address and the postman had continued to deliver here. It took him a little while to pick them all up and put them into neat piles. He made a note to send them to his parents later as, even though none of them were recent; he reasoned that they would want to have them.

As he walked into the hall, he realised just how unusually chilly the whole house was. Then it hit him that many of the windows had been left open. While he'd already moved out by the time his parents had decided to leave this house, Luke doubted that they would be careless enough to leave windows open and instantly became suspicious.

Heading upstairs, Luke hastily dumped his suitcase on the bed in his room, before exploring the rest of the manor.

It didn't take long to determine that at some point over the years, the house had been burgled. Probably several times, given the many windows on the lower floor that had been left open. Much of what should have been piles of dust, left there after many years of neglect, had been recently disturbed, cupboards and drawers had clearly been rifled through, and any food that had been left in the kitchen had long since been eaten, though that may have been by the mice.

While there hadn't been much of value left in the house, his father had been unable to take with him all of the vintage wine stored in the cellar when he'd moved and it appeared that the burglar (or burglars) had picked up on this. In what Luke presumed would have been several visits, they had cleared the cellar out entirely.

Luke knew that his father would probably be upset to know this, mostly because of the value of the wine, much of which had been passed down from his grandfather. It would be a shame to have to pass on the news…

Selfishly, Luke decided that this matter wasn't exactly pressing right now and could be dealt with when he got back to London. What was gone was gone. Probably long gone, in the case of the wine. Right now, he was more concerned with getting the house warmed up, so he closed all of the windows and got a fire going in the living room.

He'd been sat in an armchair in front of the fire long enough to just start nodding off when a violent bang on the door jolted him awake.

Dashing through the hall, Luke pulled open the door to see the now grown up faces of the two siblings, Wren and Socket, who had lived in the market area when he was younger. They looked just as surprised to see him as he was to see them.

"Um, hi," Luke muttered, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"Is that really you, Little Luke Triton?" Socket asked, squinting at him.

"Yes, of course it is," Luke snapped, not very pleased with the 'little' comment, "Who else would be at my house other than me or my family?"

There was an awkward pause.

"We just thought… well, we saw the fire and we thought someone might have broken in," Wren said, after a moment.

"You're a bit late for that," Luke laughed, "This place has already been broken into a lot before now. And I can't imagine any burglars would make themselves comfortable enough to start a fire. But I'm being really rude here; it's very nice to see you both after so long. Please, come in!"

The two had shot each other a knowing glance when Luke had mentioned a burglar making themselves comfortable, which he filed away for further investigation later. While he doubted that either of them would rob him, he wasn't wholly convinced that they knew nothing about it.

In the meantime, he showed them through to living room, where the three of them sat around the fire.

"I'm sorry that I don't have anything to offer you," he started, "I forgot to pack any food with me and was just planning on getting something from Paddy's later. If he's still open."

"Old Paddy's still in business," Socket confirmed, "But if you're staying here for a while, then you might as well pop down to the market to pick up something from Marilyn's stall. She has the nicest fruit and veg."

"Marilyn still runs that stall?" Luke asked, amazed at how little things really did seem to change here.

"She owns it herself now," answer Socket.

"And it's not all of us doing exactly the same thing as you remember," Wren cut in, guessing what Luke was thinking, "Socket and I run a mechanics and Gus inherited the sweet stall from Aunt Taffy, since she didn't have any kids of her own. Um, a bunch of the guys moved off to other places to do other things, since it can be hard to make a profit in a small town like this."

"What about the Black Ravens? Are you guys still auctioning goods underground?" Luke checked.

There was another painful glance between the siblings. Luke was beginning to get annoyed by these and almost mentioned something, before Socket spoke up.

"We… kind of don't do that anymore," he said.

"Not because we didn't want to!" Wren added, quickly, "But… well… that sort of work is great when you're a kid, but it isn't built to last, you know?"

"I'd have thought that mysterious auctions would be a great way to make money when the tourists came flocking to see the Golden Garden. And I can't imagine Crow doing anything els- …Would you two stop looking at each other like that and just tell me what's going on?" Luke snapped, having caught them midsentence this time.

Getting to his feet, Socket mumbled, "You know, I don't think we're the right people to tell you some things. But look around and maybe you'll find out for yourself."

"Yeah, Socket's right. I hope you enjoy your stay here though, Luke. Maybe we'll see you later," Wren continued, following her brother's example and getting up to leave.

The two of them showed themselves out before Luke could even get to the door, leaving him with the distinct impression that he'd done something wrong.

It was time to do what Layton had always taught him and summarise what he knew about the situation so far.

Wren and Socket hadn't seemed too surprised by his suggestion that a burglar might want to make themselves comfortable in his house and yet they had run up here at the first sign that there may well be one. Did that mean that there was a burglar who they wanted to meet?

They had also told him that the Black Ravens had disbanded for financial reasons, though Luke doubted this was the truth of the matter. And they had left before he could really ask them anything about Crow.

Perhaps, before he went ahead to visit some of his old friends, it wouldn't hurt if Luke did a little bit of snooping first. He figured that the market would be a good place to start, as it had been the base of all of the Black Raven kids' operations back when he had lived here. It wasn't as if he hadn't intended to go to the market anyway, since he knew people there and needed to buy some food for his stay. So, with that as an excuse, he headed out.

If he'd expected mystery to jump out at him in the same way it usually did with Layton, then he was sorely disappointed. All in all, the market was dull and regular. He did meet up with a few of the old crowd, like Gus and Marilyn, who he chatted with for a while. But, just like the siblings, no one wanted to talk about what had become of the black market or Crow. They were happy to tell him that Scraps was now identifying valuable antiques for a small company or that Badger had been snatched up by a sports instructor who recognised his skill at running and thought he might make it to the Olympics if he played his cards right, but whenever Luke tried to ask about Crow, they made excuses that they had other things to be getting on with.

By the time evening set in and the street lamps were dimly blinking into life, Luke was fed up of trailing around asking questions. He set his bag of groceries down and looked upon what had once been the entry point to the famed black market.

It was a glorified manhole, really. Leading deep down into the ground to create a suitably eerie backdrop for the auctions that used to be held there. Once upon a time, it had been guarded by a boy called Roddy, who stopped those who had not passed the Black Ravens' test from getting inside. But now it was abandoned, not even locked to stop anyone from wandering down.

Since there was no one left around at this time in the evening, Luke reasoned that it couldn't hurt to explore it a bit. If he wasn't meant to go down there, then there'd be a sign or someone there to tell him not to, after all.

He removed the cover and lowered himself down to the tunnel below, working his way through to the rooms that had once held the stalls and auction rooms.

Having been told that this place hadn't been used in years, Luke wasn't surprised to see that it was in a state of decay and that nothing of value was left. What he was surprised to see was the amount of damage that had been left behind. Surely, if they had simply stopped using the venue, then there'd be no call for all the smashed stalls and ripped curtains. It really looked as though someone had gone through here with the intent of destroying it.

Heading through to the back room, Luke was greeted with much of the same sort of damage. Not that he had a lot of time to reflect on it, because he was also greeted by the jagged end of a broken wooden plank being held up to his face.

"What are you doing here?" grunted a voice. It sounded as if it hadn't been used for a while.

"I'm… here looking for… for Crow," Luke mumbled, keeping his head tilted up, away from the plank.

"Who wants to see Crow anymore?"

"Luke Triton does, so stop trying to scare me, Crow!" snapped Luke.

The plank was dropped to the floor with a clatter and the aforementioned Crow stepped into Luke's line of vision. He looked hostile, arms folded in a standoffish manner, but it wasn't his body language that caught Luke's attention the most. What Luke really noticed was how haggard and scruffy he was, clothes scuffed and carelessly covered in dirt, his old scarf barely clinging onto his neck, having been reduced to tatters and the aroma of having… not been around clean water for quite sometime finishing the appearance off.

It was hard for Luke to mask his surprise.

"You shouldn't have come looking for me," Crow growled, "You know tons of other people in Misthallery, so why didn't you go to see them instead?"

"Because they didn't make me worry the same way you did," Luke mumbled, honestly.

Scowling, Crow retorted, "How did I make you worry about me? No one even said anything about me to you."

Ignoring that Crow had apparently been following him throughout the day, Luke answered, "That lack of information worried me more. The other kids were always very fond of you, Crow. It made no sense to me that they wouldn't tell me about what had happened to you, unless it was something bad."

"Nothing bad has happened," Crow replied.

"Your appearance says otherwise," snorted Luke.

"Some of us can't afford to dress as finely as you do. We don't all live in your world, Luke," Crow shot back.

"I know you're not rich. But you at least had a family who kept you in clean clothes back when I knew you. Out of all of you guys, you were the one I least expected to-"

"Shut up!"

Luke half expected Crow to go for the plank of wood again, so he stood firmly on it to stop him from picking it up. So instead, Crow made do with quivering with anger, his hands balling into fists.

"You don't know anything about me or my family!" he yelled.

"I know we were never close," Luke agreed, "But I do know you well enough to know that you used to be a calm and collected person, not someone who would scream their head off at a few questions."

"Times change, people change…" muttered Crow.

"But no one in Misthallery seems to have changed, except for you," Luke objected.

"No one else had any reason to," Crow spat.

"Then what reason did you have? Why did you disband the Black Ravens? They meant everything to you. Or I thought they did," Luke pressed.

"You're not going to go away until I give you some answers, are you?"

"No."

"I thought not. Well, take a seat and I'll fill you in on what I can…"

Luke politely tried his best to sit down on one of the rocks that for some reason now littered the place, while Crow made do with leaning against an upturned storage box, as he began his story.

"I never wanted to call it off," he began, "You're right, the Black Ravens do mean the world to me, but… it was for their own good. All of them were bright kids with futures ahead of them; when the market was destroyed it would have been wrong to force them to stay and try to fix it, if they could instead be making careers for themselves. None of them wanted to go, I fell out with many of them, but it was for the best…"

"But how did the market get destroyed at all?" Luke cut in.

If Crow had seemed uncomfortable before, that doubled now; "I never told my parents about the black market…"

"And?"

Luke had a feeling that no parents would be happy to discover their son was running a potentially illegal underground operation, but he doubted that Crow's parents would be harsh enough to-

"My dad went berserk when he found out, smashed up the whole place," Crow continued, confirming Luke's fears.

"What! But… didn't your mum stop him or something?" questioned Luke. He didn't actually know a lot about Crow's parents, but he remembered hearing that Crow's mum always used to keep his short-tempered dad in check with her calm nature.

"Mum was gone by then," Crow replied, "She'd run off sometime ago, don't blame her, really. I don't think she could hold off dad's temper all the time after he got laid off the factory… That was really how dad found out about the Black Ravens – he wanted us both to leave town to go looking for her, but I said that I couldn't leave the people I care about or the business I built behind," there was a pause in which Crow barked out a bitter laugh, "So he destroyed my business and forced me to drive the people around me away, fitting really."

"I had no idea…" Luke gasped.

"No, no one did. Dad was good at keeping up an image until mum left. Everyone knew he had a temper, but no one suspected he was actually violent. Mum was too scared to say anything, while I was too stupid to realise what was going to behind the curtain until I got older and put two and two together…" said Crow, "He got what was coming to him in the end, though. He didn't have my money to rely on after he disposed of the black market and there was no work for him after the factory shut down. Nowadays everyone knows he's a no good drunk, so no one will hire him." Crow smirked with satisfaction at the last part.

"So you live down here now?" Luke guessed.

"Pretty much. Though I don't hang around here all the time, because sometimes the old man still comes down to check when he's in a bad mood," Crow answered.

"Then why didn't you use my old house? No one was living there," Luke said.

"That was your place, I do have standards. Though… I do admit that I might have broken in a couple of times when I really needed something to sell," Crow awkwardly admitted.

"So it was you who took the trinkets and wine," said Luke, actually quite relieved that the answer to that riddle hadn't been anything more dangerous than Crow trying to feed himself.

Crow shook his head, "Not the wine, no. Dad took all of that. I could never be done with the stuff and it looked like it was probably worth something to your family."

"But you took other things that my family held dear," Luke observed.

"It was either me or him. And I didn't sell everything," Crow said, foraging around in one of the boxes before throwing something at Luke.

"Teddy!"

Luke was instantly embarrassed by his outburst upon catching the bear and frowned at Crow's chuckle. A grown man should not be that please to see a stuffed toy bear…

"He mean a lot to you, does he?" laughed Crow.

"My mum gave him to me," Luke replied, defensively, "I left him behind when I went to London; because I knew I was too old for toy bears…"

Crow instantly sympathised, "My mum gave me this scarf, and it's the last thing I have to remember her by as well… All right then, I won't laugh about your bear."

"Thank you very much," Luke huffed, then softened and added, "Come up to my house for the night."

"I can't do that."

"No, I insist that you do. It'll be really lonely being there on my own, so I could do with the company. Besides, you look like you could do with a decent meal," Luke said.

"Very well," Crow replied, "But only because I'm doing you a favour."

"Wouldn't think of it any other way," Luke said, with a smile.

It took a bit longer to get back to the Triton Manor in the dark than it had done when Luke had gone to the market during the day, but Luke felt a lot more comfortable with someone by his side. And although not a word was spoken between them, Luke got the impression that Crow felt safer walking with someone else, in case his dad showed up.

Once they'd go inside, Luke got to work making something for them to eat. Despite being initially hostile, Crow now seemed to want to talk more openly, hanging around the kitchen while Luke was cooking, simply to chat about nothing in particular. When the food was done, he ate with the speed of a man who hadn't seen a decent meal for a long time, which may well have been the case, before saying they should probably both get some rest.

"No, not quite yet," Luke corrected.

"Aren't you tired after running around the market all day?" Crow checked.

"I am, but there's a more important matter that we need to deal with first," Luke replied, cryptically.

"And what would that be?" asked Crow.

"Um, well, no offense, but… you smell. Really bad. So before we do anything else, I think that you should get yourself a bath," Luke instructed.

"You're not my mother," scoffed Crow.

"But I am a person who's been around you for more than five minutes. And out of respect to other people who may come to fall into that category, I'm putting my foot down about this," replied Luke.

Crow shook his head; "You're really harsh! But fine, if it'll keep you happy."

Without further complaint, Crow did as he was told, heading upstairs to run himself a bath. Given the amount of time that he allowed himself to soak, before coming back downstairs, Luke presumed that he'd probably enjoyed it once he'd got in amongst the hot water and soapy bubbles.

He also observed that Crow had come downstairs wearing one of his father's old bath robes.

"Hope you don't mind," Crow said, sheepishly, "It was the first thing I grabbed, since my own clothes… aren't looking so great."

"I'm going to attack your clothes with a washing machine as soon as I can," Luke assured him, "And, yes, you can wear that. You can borrow a pair of my pyjamas as well, if you want to."

"Thanks Luke, you're too nice," Crow replied.

"So I've been told. Now, we really should be getting some sleep," finished Luke, with a yawn.

There were no objections there and the two boys headed up to bed. For the moment, Crow was given Luke's parent's room to stay in, as Luke still felt more comfortable sleeping in his own room than anywhere else.

When morning drew around, Luke made the two of them some breakfast, and then got to washing Crow's clothes as if they had personally offended him.

Meanwhile, Crow sat watching him, still wearing a pair of Luke's pyjamas. They were slightly too small for him, but Luke couldn't help but feel they somehow looked good on the other man. He had to force himself not to stare.

"Either you really love housework or you really hate my clothes," Crow commented, as he watched Luke venomously dump the pile into the machine.

"A bit of both," Luke replied, "When I lived with the Professor, I did a lot of housework, because he was terrible at keeping his office clean. You look surprised. Do you really think all of us rich kids can't look after ourselves?"

"Guess I should know better, seeing how long Tony looked after himself and Arianna for," agreed Crow.

"Oh man, the Bardes! I completely forgot I was supposed to go see them!" Luke gasped, slapping his forehead.

"Would have thought Arianna would be the first thing on your mind," replied Crow, raising an eyebrow.

Sighing, Luke answered, "Well someone happened to distract me with their personal drama when I arrived, okay?" he shot Crow a look, "And, if I'm honest, I'm kind of nervous about seeing them…"

"I can see why. Everyone saw Arianna kiss you when you left. There were so many rumours about you two flying around, but she wouldn't say anything about it and Tony would get annoyed at anyone who talked bad about his sister," Crow said.

"The thing is… I don't even know what's going on between us," Luke admitted, turning from the washing machine to look at Crow, "I mean, after she kissed me, I assumed that she liked me and maybe we kind of might have been dating. But we were both so young and shy that we just danced around the subject in our letters to each other. Over the years, we ended up writing less often, since we were both doing other things, and eventually it just fizzled out all together."

Crow shrugged; "Wish I could help you, but I haven't heard much of Tony since the Black Ravens disbanded. They still live up in that house, as far as I know. They seemed to be doing something with the Golden Garden for a while, since everyone wanted to hear about Arianna's story."

"I'm sure they'll tell me more…" Luke mumbled.

"Tell you what, why don't we both head up there when my clothes are dry? Might help break the ice a little if you have someone else with you," offered Crow.

"Thanks, that would be helpful," said Luke, sighing with relief.

It was long into the afternoon before Crow's clothes were ready and the two of them set off to visit the Bardes. The journey was also rather laboured by people stopping them, both out of surprise to see Luke again and out of surprise to see Crow walking around openly again, instead of skulking from place to place in fear of his father.

Eventually, they both made it up the winding path to Barde Manor and knocked on the door.

"Is the mistress seeing visitors today?" Luke joked, as Tony answered the door.

"Luke? Is that really you? It's so nice to see you again! And, um, you too, Crow," mumbled Tony, "Oh, and yeah, come through; I'll get Arianna to come see you."

The two of them were showed through to the living room, while they waited on a rather too large sofa as Tony went off to find his sister.

When Arianna was brought through to the room, with her came a man who Luke did not know at all. He frowned a little.

"Luke, it's wonderful to see you after so long," she said, walking over to hug him, before letting go and asking, "How long have you been back in town for?"

"Just a day," Luke answered.

"Well, I'm glad you came by to see us. By the way, this is my fiancé, Fredrick, we were going to send you a wedding invitation later this week, but now that you've turned up personally…" she trailed off.

"Fiancé?" Crow muttered, looking cautiously at Luke.

It he was expecting to see any bitterness cross the boy's face, then he was mistaken, as Luke broke into a warm smile; "Congratulations, I'm very happy to hear the news."

"You are? I was wondering how you'd take it…" Arianna replied.

"You shouldn't have worried. I'm glad you've found someone you're happy with, really," Luke assured her, shaking her hand, "Just make sure you don't forget to invite the Professor to the wedding as well."

"I wouldn't dream of missing him out; or Miss Altava either," she confirmed.

There seemed to be a weight lifted off her chest after that. Luke was fine with her marrying someone else. The rest of the afternoon was spent with the group of them discussing small matters, like what Luke had been up to since he left and how Arianna had met Fredrick. Very little attention was paid to Crow, despite Luke making several attempts to draw him into the conversation. But Crow personally preferred to be ignored. While they were all nice people, he had very little to say to the upper-classes and enjoyed being free to just listen. He noted how relaxed Luke seemed to feel, as well as Arianna, once the situation about her engagement had been established.

In the evening, Luke and Crow bid themselves farewell and headed back home.

Crow couldn't resist checking; "Are you really all right with Arianna marrying someone else?"

"Of course I am. I have no reason not to be," Luke confirmed.

"But you were saying this morning that you and her…"

"I was saying that I had no idea what her and I were anymore. I wasn't sure if she saw me as her boyfriend or as a friend. And now I know the answer to that. It makes me feel better. It's not that I don't care about her, but… it's sort of odd not knowing if you're tied to someone or not. Especially when you've not seen them for so long. Somehow, knowing that we're just friends for certain, I kind of feel like I suddenly have more freedom, perhaps. She feels the same way, I think," Luke clarified.

"So what's going to happen now that you're a free, single man?" asked Crow, jokingly.

"Probably nothing," Luke admitted, "I haven't really found anyone I'm attracted to yet."

"They say it'll happen when it happens. Though I've never fallen for anyone either, so I can't judge. I was too in love with my work," Crow replied.

"Then you had that taken away from you. I'm really sorry…" mumbled Luke.

"Don't be," Crow scolded, "What's in the past can't be changed. You've done plenty enough letting me stay with you for the moment as it is."

"I could do more for you," Luke offered, "My family isn't using the house anymore and I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind if you wanted to live there."

"Can't, my dad still goes there," Crow muttered, "Well, he hasn't since he cleared out your cellar, but if I start living there, then he'll sharp find out and be up there to sort me out."

Luke didn't say that Crow should learn to face his father. He knew so little of both the situation and of Crow's father, beyond what he'd been told, that it would be wrong of him to make a judgment like that. If Crow was scared of his dad, there was probably a good reason for it.

All the same, years of saving people alongside Layton had made Luke feel the need to help out anyone that he could. Especially a friend.

"Then come back to London with me," he proposed.

"Are you mad? I can't do that!" Crow gaped, staring at him.

"Yes, you can. I can afford to look after you and you'd be far enough away from your dad that you won't have to worry about him anymore. Plus, you could start up your business again in London, if you wanted," Luke replied.

"I'm not going to freeload from you anymore than I already have," said Crow.

"You're not freeloading! I want to help you!" Luke snapped.

"That doesn't make it not freeloading, it just makes it charity," Crow insisted, "And I'm not taking it."

"You're being stubborn."

"Maybe that's one thing I get from my old man."

"Look… just think about it, okay?"

"I will, but don't expect me to change my mind."

Luke, however, did indeed expect Crow to change his mind and kept pestering him about the point for every day that he was there, up until Crow threatened to go back to living in his hole in the ground if Luke mentioned it again. Begrudgingly, Luke stopped asking after that.

But because he had no set time that he had to return to London for and he hated the idea of leaving Crow to go back to living the way he was, Luke continued to prolong his trip to Misthallery, until several months later, he got a call from the Professor.

"Luke, we're worrying about you," Layton said, as the two of them talked over the phone, "You've been gone a long time. If you're moving back to Misthallery permanently, then please let me know."

"I'm not really sure, Professor," Luke admitted, "I still want to live in London, but there's someone here that I can't leave…"

"Crow?"

"How did you know?"

"He was the one who answered the phone," Layton chuckled, "The two of you do seem to be settling in together nicely."

"What are you saying?" Luke huffed.

"Just that it's… nice you've found someone you're comfortable living with," hummed Layton.

"I do like living with Crow. I just wish he liked it enough to want to come back to London with me…" sighed Luke.

"These things take time, my boy. Sometimes it is best not to keep obstinately hammering at a point and just let a person come to realise what they want on their own," Layton advised.

"I do not keep 'hammering a point'!" Luke said, indignantly.

"Then how can you explain why, upon answering the phone, Crow said, 'He better not have got you in on trying to get me to move to London,' to me, hmm?" Layton teased.

"I… He… How could he accuse me of that?" Luke replied.

"All I'm saying is to give him time, as he clearly needs it," Layton said, getting them back on the point.

"If he has anymore time, I might just have to move in here permanently," Luke groaned.

"You're exaggerating things, I'm sure. Regardless, I'll see you at the wedding," concluded Layton.

"W-wedding? We're not getting married, Professor! I mean, Crow's really great and I-"

"Hold on, Luke. I meant Arianna's wedding later this week. I certainly wasn't implying anything," Layton confirmed, sounding a little too amused.

"Ah… Um, of course you did! S-sorry! My mistake. I'll… let you go now…" Luke murmured, hanging up the phone. He felt very embarrassed.

"Done chatting to Mr. Layton?" Crow asked, coming through with a tray of toast that he'd made for them to share.

"Yeah… I think he thinks there's… um, something going on between us," mumbled Luke, gladly taking a slice from the tray, as Crow set it down on the table.

"What would make him think that?" Crow said. He didn't sound as surprised or even tickled by such an apparently absurd notion as Luke had been expecting.

"Just reading into what I was saying, I expect. But either way, we can set him on the right track when we see him later this week," Luke replied.

"Either way?" Crow queried.

"Yes?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that we'll be able to… to tell him what's going on between us either way," Luke mumbled.

"So, what is going on between us?" said Crow, who would also like to be set straight in regards to that point.

"N-nothing… I think. We're friends, it'd be weird…" Luke answered, feeling the hairs on his arms prickle with nerves.

Crow was also avoiding making eye contact; "I don't think it'd be so weird."

"You don't?" Luke looked seriously across at him.

"No. Well, it would be for other people, but not for us. I mean, we might as well be living together by now and I… I feel comfortable about that. It's different to how I felt around the guys. I felt comfortable with them too, but this is… a different kind of comfortable. Like a comfortable I would mind settling down with," Crow confessed.

"Even though we're both guys…?" Luke checked, wondering if it was even all right to ask a question like that.

"If this is about sexuality, then I probably should have clued you in about mine long before now," Crow laughed.

"I don't mean that horribly," Luke said, quickly, "It's just that I never really thought about having a relationship with another guy before. Um, I do feel… sort of different about you than I do about most people, but I guess I always just assumed that I'd be into girls."

"That's society for you," commented Crow, "If you want to give it a try though, then I wouldn't mind being the one to hold your hand."

Luke leaned forwards; "I'd like that a lot."

"Glad to hear."

Crow was looking directly at him now. He didn't even have time to feel unnerved by the intensity of the stare, because in the next moment Crow had moved forwards to kiss him gently on the lips. This was only the second kiss Luke had received in his life, not counting those from his family. And this was the first kiss he'd ever gotten on the lips. While he didn't want to think of himself as cheesy, he couldn't help but noticed how easy it was to melt into a kiss. How it gave him butterflies in his stomach, but at the same time made him feel oddly relaxed. It was a strange combination.

As Crow pulled away again, he opened his eyes. He'd hardly even noticed that he'd closed them.

"Wow…"

"So what are you going to tell Mr. Layton now?" Crow teased.

"I, um, I'll tell him that I don't kiss and tell," Luke tried, laughing at how terrible that sounded.

The rest of the day was spent with the two of them awkwardly settling into their new situation. Luke couldn't help but feel happy at finally being in a relationship and knowing for certain he was in one.

As the days to Arianna's wedding drew closer, Luke generally felt himself feeling a lot more cheerful. Neither Crow nor he had mentioned their relationship to anyone else, but those who lived in the area definitely noticed a change for the better in both of them, regardless of whether or not they realised why.

Perhaps because he was so intrigued by his first real relationship, Luke seemed to be having trouble keeping track of the time. He was never in a rush to be anywhere right now, so he never made himself feel rushed. Because of that, on the day before the wedding, Luke ended up hanging around North Ely, catching up with old friends of his parents, for a little too long.

With winter came the darker nights and Luke wasn't too fazed at the prospect of having to walk home by the light of the street lamps.

At least not until he heard someone else walking close by.

"Who's there?" Luke called. He knew everyone in Misthallery and had no reason to be scared of any late night walkers, but all the same, he felt uneasy.

There was a clink of a bottle being dropped to the ground, and then a bulky man stepped into view. He wasn't someone Luke knew, possibly a tourist, but all the same, the way he regarded Luke didn't seem friendly. The man leered at him through red-rimmed eyes, trying to focus.

"You 's th' Triton son," the man slurred.

"Y-yes, I'm Luke Triton…" mumbled Luke, not wanting to get into a conversation with this man.

He backed away a little, but the stranger moved swiftly for someone of his size, grabbing hold of Luke by his jacket and lifting him off the floor with ease to slam him against the nearest lamp post. Luke cried out with the pain of the impact.

"You… ya turned m' son inta one o' those… those pansies… Those queer pansies. Ya keep 'im up in ya posh 'ouse like a little pet dog…" the man accused, shaking Luke to punctuate each point of the statement, "But we's don't need t' be given stuff by rich toffs. We's got dig… dignity…"

Luke wanted to reason with the man, but he was frozen with fear. The best he could do with choke out a strangled cry and hope that someone nearby would hear the drunken rages of this man and come to help.

"Get off him!"

His pleas were answered. Luke just vaguely made out the form of Crow, launching himself at his father. The man bellowed with rage, dropping his hold on Luke to attempt to dislodge Crow's hold on his back.

There was little more Luke could do than attempt to pull himself up from the ground with limited success.

"I'll kill ya…! You little rat! Bringin' dis-dishonour onta the family name…!" Crow's dad yelled.

"I would like to assume that murdering a young man would bring more dishonour to a family's name than anyone's sexuality would," commented a third voice.

Luke had never been happier to see Layton in his life and he was frequently happy to see the man. Although the Professor rarely gave into violence when there was an alternate, he wasted no time in this situation in darting forward to aid Crow in trying to detain the drunken man. Not knowing which of them to go for, Crow's father made do with flailing his arms around in an attempt to batter whichever one he happened to hit between Layton and Crow.

However, because his stamina was fuelled by alcohol, in comparison to Layton's years of training as a fencer, it didn't take long before the Professor had gotten him down and, with Crow's help, held him there until the police turned up.

It took until Crow's dad was being restrained by several officers for Luke to notice that there were lights on in almost all of the windows of the surrounding houses and many people were watching from out of them.

"Luke, are you all right?" Crow asked, gripping him in a tight hug.

"I'm fine…" Luke muttered, "What happened here…?"

"My dad… He found out about us… just because everyone talks in Misthallery and I wasn't trying to keep it a secret or anything. I'm so sorry…" Crow murmured, without letting go.

"It's a good thing that I happened to be staying in the hotel and Crow had come to talk to me," Layton said, walking over, "Otherwise we might not have heard the noise that his father was making."

"Professor… Thank you," mumbled Luke, "If it weren't for both of you…"

"Shh, don't think of that," soothed Layton, "You've been through quite an ordeal. Come on, we can all rest up at the hotel."

Luke had no objections to this and he shakily walked back to the hotel with Layton and Crow, heading up to Layton's room, where the three of them could get privacy. After establishing that he was there for the wedding tomorrow, the Professor had a few more things that he wanted to talk with his former apprentice about.

"Crow here came to talk with me about the situation between you and him," Layton confirmed.

"Oh."

Luke had been uncertain about how he'd address such a topic with Layton. But if he'd been worried about him not approving of the idea of the two of them dating, then Layton proved him wrong by not regarding the situation as any differently to how he might have done had Luke been in a relationship with anyone else in the world.

"I wanted…" Crow cut in, "I wanted to ask his advice about moving to London."

"You did? But I thought you didn't want to move," Luke gaped.

"I didn't want to freeload from you and I was scared about what my father might do if he found out about you. But Mr. Layton helped clear up a lot of things. He says that if we're serious about this, then we both need to work at making things happen together. And that it isn't freeloading. He also told me that I shouldn't be scared of my father, but I guess we already dealt with that…" Crow answered.

"Yes, I believe that man will certainly be charged for assault, with all those witnesses about," agreed Layton, "But regardless, I hope that the two of you will return with me to London after the wedding. Flora and the others have missed you a lot, my boy, and I'm sure they'll be glad to meet Crow."

Luke nodded; "Professor, if Crow's coming with me, then nothing in the world could keep me away from London."

And then maybe I can feel at home at last, he added to himself.

Crow gazed at the wall for a moment, and then he looked at Luke and asked, "Does this count as running away from home?"

"I reckon you did that a long time ago," Luke answered.

"It's still daunting all the same," replied Crow.

"Don't worry, I'll be there to hold your hand," Luke teased.

"I'm not a child!" scoffed Crow.

"No, but I just want to hold your hand," Luke admitted.

So Luke did take hold of his hand. And in that moment, suddenly both of the boys knew that, regardless of where they were, they were now both very definitely home.


	25. Layton/Clive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the cat is out of the bag about his plan, Clive decides to have a bit of fun with Layton. Singing and alcohol get involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt that wanted Clive singing karaoke to Layton. Set during PL3, in a slight AU that implies they spent more than one day in Future London.

You had to be really good at lying to do what Clive was currently doing. In order to make other people believe that you're someone who you actually are not, well… Clive wouldn't go so far as to say that you had to believe it yourself, but you had to buy into it just a little if you wanted to make it believable.

So right now he was "Future Luke". He had been Future Luke for many months while he'd been preparing the act, much to the annoyance of Dimitri, but now it was for real.

Because Hershel Layton was not a stupid man. The exact reputation he had was that you couldn't fool him. So, more than a lot of things, Clive wanted to fool him for just a little while if he could.

And although Clive knew this was never going to be easy, he congratulated himself upon just how calm and composed he'd managed to remain from the moment he'd introduced himself to Layton onwards.

As he walked down the darkening London streets (he'd prided himself on getting the night and day system to work well enough to convince the residents), pace quickening with each step, he felt that calm dissolving a little.

"Luke, where are we going?"

He didn't look back at Layton. Right now he wasn't sure if he could maintain his act if they made eye contact.

"I thought I was Big Luke, Professor."

"Since Little Luke is resting back in the hotel, I think it would be rather needless to continue calling you that for the moment," replied Layton, and after a moment's pause he added, "I'm still not sure it's safe to leave him and Flora back at the hotel, however."

"I know my past, Professor, and I think that I'd know if anything had happened to me back then. Besides, that Becky girl said she'd keep an eye on them for us," Clive dismissed. It was pushing it, as far as the lies went, but he knew that nothing would happen to Luke and Flora, simply because he hadn't ordered for anything to happen to them. Not yet.

"Very well…" Layton didn't sound convinced, "I should hope this is important enough for you to drag me out here in the middle of the night."

"It's important to me."

That was another lie, it wasn't important at all.

If Layton had any doubt about that, they were confirmed as Clive led him towards the bar. It was a small place, plastered with those tacky neon lights that somehow manage to make any building look even dingier, despite their bright colours. On the inside was the sound of people merrily drinking their day's sorrows away. Like much of Future London, Clive was secretly in awe that he'd managed to make it so convincing that the people who lived here bought into it completely and used it without his prompting.

He could also practically feel the distaste radiating from Layton as the other man caught up with him. This was not a place for gentlemen.

"What are we doing here, Luke? Do you have an informant you want to talk with?" he asked.

"No, we're not here on business," Clive said.

"Then what are we doing at… a place like this?" pressed Layton.

"We're here because for the past ten years I've been fighting you. You've become this horrible being that causes me nothing but trouble. However, bringing the old you to the future has reminded me of what fun we used to have together, solving mysteries and chasing down the bad guys. I missed having fun with you. That's why we're here," Clive answered.

There was a pause that would have contained a sigh if Layton had less manners than he did; "If you know me at all, then you'd know that this isn't the sort of place I go to have fun."

"We're both adults now and you don't have to come with me if you don't want to," Clive stubbornly concluded, walking off into the bar by himself.

He stepped away from the door on the inside and didn't even have to count to five before he heard it swing open again.

"If this is what you want, than it would be cruel not to oblige you after what my future self has put you through," Layton said, walking up behind him.

"Great, thanks. It'll just be a few drinks and then we can go back to the hotel," Clive promised him.

"I'm not much of a drinker," Layton argued, leading the two of them to a table.

Clive snorted; "Then you can watch me drink and get very bored."

"Your father would never approve of this, Luke."

"If I remember correctly, he was the one who had a cellar full of ale back in Misthallery." Clive had researched Clark too, just in case.

"Yes, but he always drank in moderation and I expect that he wouldn't want his little boy to start," Layton commented, as Clive ordered himself a drink.

"It's been ten years. Of course my dad wouldn't want me to drink in your time, but he doesn't worry about me so much as an adult. And even if he did, I reckon he'd be more worried about me fighting the Prime Minister than if I have a few drinks in my spare time, wouldn't you?" debated Clive.

"I suppose so. It's just… strange to see you like this," Layton admitted.

Clive took his drink from the passing waitress and sipped it, before darkly replying, "Well, my lessons on gentlemanly behaviour were cut short."

"And I will do whatever I can to make up for what I apparently neglect to do in future," said Layton.

"Just being here right now is enough," answered Clive.

For a while they sat in silence, just listening to the noise of the people around them. Layton was never much of a talker when he could instead sit back and observe the facts presented by his environment, before coming to a conclusion and, as a journalist, Clive had a habit of eavesdropping even when he didn't mean to. If Layton had any doubt about what Clive was saying about this being the future, he would have no choice but to accept it was based on what these people were saying. Because all of the pawns Clive had put in place truly believed they were ten years in the future. The sorts of things they talked about, even everyday things like work, subtly didn't match what the people from the London that Layton knew would talk about. It was just off enough to feel like they were from a different time. Not a far away time, but a different one, for sure.

Clive had ordered two more drinks just to show Layton that he could, really. He'd been expecting the Professor to give in and take one of them, but when he didn't, it left Clive having to drink both of them.

"My word, that's terrible," Clive commented, ending their lengthy silence.

"You shouldn't have ordered it, then," replied Layton, with a smug air of _I-told-you-so_ to his voice.

"Not the drink, I mean _that,"_ clarified Clive, waving over to where three of the drunken men were wailing a football chant into a microphone, arms around each other and swaying slowly.

"From my experience, karaoke is always terrible," Layton chuckled.

"I bet I could make it not terrible," claimed Clive.

"I'd have to say you've had one too many to drink in that case," replied Layton. He sounded more amused than disdainful, which was a nice change.

For a moment, Clive worried that Layton might be right about that, but he couldn't back down; "When they've finished, I'll prove it to you."

"Don't make a fool of yourself," replied Layton.

"You never stopped me from doing that when I was a kid," Clive reminded.

"And I won't stop you now, just advise you not to do it," Layton said.

Thankfully, Clive didn't have to think of a retort to that one, because the three footie fans made their way off the stage to much cheering from their drunken companions. Before anyone else had a chance to take over, Clive darted from the table he'd been sat at to the stage, grabbing one of the microphones.

There was more general cheering, but then these people would have cheered anything that might prove entertaining to them for a few minutes. Clive, in his not-quite-sure-if-he-was-drunk state, would definitely be entertaining for just a few minutes.

He felt panic flooding into him as he realised he was stood holding a microphone, with no idea what he was even going to sing, and Layton was watching him. He only allowed his eyes to dart that way for a second, but that was enough time to see Layton's own eyes set very definitely on him.

Turning towards the juke box, Clive fumbled through the list to try and find something, anything, that he could remotely remember the words to.

Eventually, he just stabbed blindly at the first familiar song that he saw.

_That Old Black Magic._

As the juke box reared to life, Clive suddenly realised his mistake. This wasn't the Frank Sinatra version. He really doubted he would have been able to pull that version off convincing anyway, but anything would have been easier than the jazzy, upbeat music that jumped out of the machine. While he knew there'd been more releases of this song under different artists than he'd had hot dinners, it was just his luck that he'd got stuck with that Louis Prima & Keely Smith version from the fifties. Clive could visualise the two of them flouncing around to the beat in the back of his mind, but that really wasn't helping his situation.

_Just sing. Don't think about anything and just sing. Forget about how stupid you look doing both halves of the duet and sing the damn song._

_And whatever you do, don't look at Layton._

That proved not to be difficult, as the rest of the crowd roared into life. While Clive wasn't sure if it was because he was doing a really good job or a really bad job, it seemed to be having a positive effect on the punters, with many of them getting up to dance. As they swung their arms around to the beat, there was a shout from a waitress, as one of them upset a tray of drinks, but this went largely ignored by the crowd.

The length of the song proved to be the longest and most bizarre two and a half minutes of Clive's life. And he was speaking as someone who'd spent the past day pretending to be a cockney boy from the future.

When it came to a close, the cheers erupted.

"Buy that boy a drink!" someone yelled.

"I think he's had enough drinks for one night."

Clive quite agreed with this and was actually glad to see Layton grabbing his arm and pull him off the stage, even if the disappointed men weren't. The world was spinning. Singing and dancing and alcohol, in Clive's opinion, did not go together. Which is why it was suddenly shocking to him that these three things were very often put together in life.

Before he had time to reflect too much on this, he found himself out in the fresh air of the evening. If only slightly, the air did help clear his head.

"I need to pay for the drinks," he protested.

"Already did that," assured Layton, "You're lucky that our currency hasn't changed in the past ten years."

"Thanks…" Clive mumbled, steadying himself against Layton as they began to walk away, "I guess I proved you right about everyone looking stupid when they do karaoke."

"Quite," Layton hummed, as he felt no need to humour the boy, "But you're not the first."

"Hmm?"

"There used to be… a girl I knew," started Layton, he still didn't feel comfortable telling Luke about Claire, "She was outgoing and wonderful. Sometimes I'd go to bars with her because she liked the atmosphere, even if she wasn't much of a drinker. I think she just liked being around other people. One night, she ended up trying to prove the same thing to me that you did, to much the same results. She sung better than you, but it was still terrible, in a good way."

"Was I terrible in a good way?" asked Clive. He was just trying to make himself feel better at this point.

"Yes, you were," laughed Layton.

He didn't go on to say that Claire had sung the same song that Future Luke had. It was too much of a strange coincidence that it sort of felt unreal. Layton had never in his life compared anyone to Claire or even found anyone that he felt was similar to her. Certainly not the young Luke he knew, who was asleep back at the hotel. But in that evening, this Future Luke's brash confidence had reminded him of the secret side of Claire – the side that only he really knew of and had loved her for. She had not been a meek and dainty little person; she was a brave woman who could, well, give someone a run for their money better than Layton could himself. She was never one to back down from a challenge.

And he wasn't sure how to feel about Luke apparently turning out that way.

"If I'd had a better song…" Clive muttered, snapping the Professor out of his thoughts.

"My boy, you had the best song," Layton confirmed.

'That Old Black Magic' indeed.


	26. Randall/Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall talks with Henry about why the other man continues to serve him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set soon after PL5.

"I'm glad that's over with!"

Randall flopped down onto one of the chairs in the living room, as if he'd just come home from work. When in truth, he'd actually just been reunited with the friend, girlfriend and mother who'd been absent from his memories for many years, after having first made several violent attempts on their lives because he'd believed a sack of lies handed to him by a madman.

But that was Randall all over, Henry knew. He was just the sort of person to shake off the hardships of life with a hand wave.

"Having you returned to us safely is all that we could ask for, Master Randall," Henry said, truly meaning it.

"And more than I deserve," replied Randall, looking over at him, "Though I have to ask – why were you so convinced that I was alive? Everyone else thought that I was dead and it has been such a long time since then that I might as well have been."

Henry looked confused; "I knew that you'd never break your promise to Miss Angela."

"Henry, people can't help dying. If I had met my end out there because of something that was outside of my control, there's very little that anyone could have done about it," Randall reasoned.

"Yes, but you're not like other people. I knew that you couldn't have died, because it was you. And I have faith in you," Henry informed him, loyally.

_He really does believe that,_ mused Randall. _Even Angela thought that I was dead, before he talked her into waiting for me with him. Hershel was carrying out my legacy, because he thought that I was dead, too. Everyone had doubts, except for Henry._

"You're too good to me," he murmured, out loud.

"There is no such thing as too good, Master Randall," assured Henry, "You deserve every kindness in the world."

"But why? What makes me different from the next guy?" asked Randall. The next guy hadn't refused to listen to reason and made several attempts on Henry's life, after all.

"I told you before, because you saved me when I was young. From that moment onwards, you've shown me nothing but kindness and I will do everything within my power to return the favour," Henry said.

"After everything that you've done, I think that you can consider your debt more than repaid," Randall replied.

A smile.

"Then would you accept that I wish to continue to serve you simply because I want to?" Henry offered.

The smile was returned.

"I'd be honoured if you did, my friend," answered Randall.

"That is what I shall do, then. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get the tea ready before Angela arrives with your mother," concluded Henry, turning to leave.

"Henry?"

"Yes, Master Randall?"

_I love you._

"Just… thanks. For everything."

"You're always welcome."

Anything further wasn't needed to be said.


	27. Layton/Clive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton learns that perhaps it is possible for someone to be worse at cooking than Flora. He just didn't expect that lesson to come in the form of Clive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set several years post-PL3 and with the usual "Clive somehow got out of prison" attached.

_You're really the only person suitable to become his appointed carer, Mr. Layton._

The Professor wasn't ever sure whether that was some twisted form of punishment or not. Though he couldn't really blame it on Bill Hawks, as even if the former Prime Minister hadn't lost his seat of power years ago, he knew that Bill wanted nothing more than for Clive to remain behind bars for the rest of his life. Or else to be shot. Whichever he could legally achieve.

So when, after several years of imprisonment, Clive had been granted freedom under the condition that he was watched by a carer at all times, Layton was conveniently the only person who fit the shoes of being able to be that carer.

It hadn't been an easy routine to adjust to, what with Layton having his own job at Gressenheller University that he needed to attend to. But over time, they'd developed some sort of a system. That system may have meant that Clive had to sit in on his archaeology classes, but neither of them really seemed to mind that arrangement, despite how initially awkward it had seemed for a grown man like Clive to even need a carer.

All Clive really wanted was a chance to atone for his crimes. And while the situation came at a slight inconvenience to Layton, he had to admit that wanting to do so was a noble intention on Clive's part. It was just a shame that, given his crimes, there was no way that Clive could be allowed into a normal society under enough freedom to hold a job of his own. And having to be around Layton at all times severely limited what he could do with the limited freedom that he was granted.

Although he tried to hide it, Layton knew that at times Clive suffered with the grave boredom that must come from having to listen to the same lectures over and over about a subject that you weren't interested in, such as the archaeology classes that he doubted Clive cared for.

At home however, Clive came more into his element. Even if that brought up the scenario of how sheltered Clive's life with the Dove family had been. Sure, he'd been knowledgeable enough to build an underground city and had undoubtedly seen a lot of the world from his time as a reporter, but when it came to being at home, Clive was about as clueless about housework as someone who'd be raised by the rich could often be expected to be.

This matter became worse after Flora left home, as Layton himself was a bit of a clutter-bug. They ended up being two men, living in a house without much of an idea how to care for it.

Over time, they had both risen to the occasion. For all he wasn't the best at it, Clive was at least willing to learn. The housework always got done eventually, clean clothes would always turn up once the lack of clean clothes had been established, and dinner was always on the table. Though the last part was down to Layton. Living for years with Flora's unfortunately inedible cooking had meant that he'd become well-versed in that particular subject.

One day, however, Clive had brought up that he wanted to give it a try.

"It can't be that hard, can it?" he said.

"You'd be surprised," Layton chuckled, "Flora tried her hardest, but even the simplest of recipes would sadly elude her."

Clive nodded; "You can say that again." He hadn't forgotten the mutton korma she'd once made, complete with strawberry laces instead of spaghetti and ominous burnt crispy bits instead of… um, presumably raisins. She certainly was an experimental cook, if not a successful one; "But I think that I should give it a try, at least once," he pressed.

"Have you ever cooked before?" checked Layton.

"No," Clive confessed, "My… my mum always used to when I lived at home and the servants took care of it after Constance adopted me." When he mentioned his mother, he tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. It was hard, but he needed to talk about those events like a normal, adjusted person who had accepted their parents' deaths would do. That was what society wanted of him.

Layton picked up on it, however, and perhaps out of sympathy replied, "Very well then, I won't stop you from trying. But don't pressure yourself too much."

"A bit of pressure might be just what I need," said Clive, trying to shrug off the thoughts of his mother.

Though Layton had his doubts, he wasn't a man to stop someone with determination. This had, however, turned out to be a mistake.

Within an hour, thick, grey smoke was billowing out from the kitchen.

"What's going on in here?" Layton called, rushing to the door, "Are you all right?"

He had been distracted with reading a book in his study. So much so, that he'd neglected to see the signs of destruction before now.

"E-everything's fine! Nothing to worry about!" Clive called, unconvincingly, from somewhere in the gloom, "Go back to whatever you were doing."

"For the safety of my kitchen, I don't feel I can do that," replied Layton, barging through. He couldn't see a thing in front of his face…

Clive coughed; "This is hardly the first time your kitchen has been in danger!"

"Yes, but at least Flora never managed to burn it down," retorted Layton, "Let me open a window, if nothing else."

"All right. Um, where are you, anyway?" Clive asked.

Layton glanced around and replied, "I'm actually not sure. But I can't be that far from the window, this room isn't that big. Just give me a moment."

He reached out, hoping to grab onto the table to give him a sense of bearing.

What he actually grabbed onto, was something soft and definitely not table-like at all.

Clive yelped, throwing whatever he'd been holding into the air. It came down with a clatter, bouncing off Layton's hand and covering them both with a burning substance, before landing on the floor with a metallic clang.

They both screamed.

"That was my crotch!" yelled Clive.

"Never mind about your crotch! Whatever that was, it's burning my arm off!" hissed Layton, releasing his grip to clutch at his stinging arm.

"That's a nice way to talk about the stew I was making for you!" Clive protested, though it was a rather weak testimony in face of the pain he was feeling from where the mess had splashed onto him.

"Just… open the window…" pleaded Layton.

Not wanting to argue with that one, Clive reached over, groping around on the counter until he eventually located the clasp and pushed the window open. The smoke gushed out into the freedom of the evening air. It must have looked like quite a sight for the neighbours.

After a few moments, the air in the kitchen cleared enough for them to both see what was going on. The discarded pan had rolled across the floor, before having settled against the leg of the table, where it dripped out the remainder of its contents that hadn't splattered across Layton and Clive.

The two men just stared at each other. Between them, Layton had easily suffered the most damage, stew smeared all over the front of his shirt, as well as the arm he'd used to grab Clive. Undoubtedly, there was a bruise forming under his sleeve, where the pan had hit him.

Clive hadn't got off scot-free either though, as some of the stew had hit him in an awkward enough place to make it seem like he'd had an accident.

Glancing down, he commented, "Looks like my lower half is suffering a lot of indignity today."

In light of everything, they couldn't help but laugh at themselves after that.

"We should probably wash this off before we're too badly burned," said Layton, once they'd finished laughing.

"Yeah, and I think we can abandon dinner for lost," replied Clive, before adding, "I'll never criticize Flora's cooking again."

"I should hope not," Layton agreed, "You can say what you like about her food, but nothing she's made has ever attacked me before. This is one meal that I won't be forgetting anytime soon."

"I'm going to try again tomorrow," Clive said, adamantly.

"You're not."

"I am."

"We can argue about this later," concluded Layton, "For now, let's just get into some clean clothing. And I insist that we're eating out today, even if that is an odd reward to give you for attacking me."

"Me attacking you? You were the one who grabbed my private parts!" Clive protested.

"Quite by accident, I can assure you. Now, are you coming or staying?" Layton pressed.

The answer was obvious; "I'm coming. Just give me a moment to clear up in here."

"Glad to hear it," hummed Layton, "Now, if you'll excuse me."

He left the room with slightly more haste than was considered gentlemanly. Clive tried not smirk at the sight.

At least, if he ever wanted to brag, he could claim to have covered Professor Layton in a hot mess that he wouldn't soon forget.


	28. Layton, Luke & Flora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton tells Luke and Flora the tale of how he grew his first moustache, as well as the reason he decided to get rid of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at point after the second game but before the third one.

"You're lying!" Flora proclaimed.

"I most certainly am not," huffed Luke, "Tell her, Professor! Tell her about how you used to have really puffy hair when you were younger."

Layton chuckled at this most unusual of arguments that the two children were having, taking a sip of his tea before answering, "Luke is quite correct, my dear. During my teenage years I did indeed have quite the afro. It was… more acceptable in those days to have one than it is now."

"See? I told you so," said Luke, spitting his tongue out.

"A gentleman does not taunt a lady, Luke," Layton scolded.

"Sorry…" mumbled Luke, head drooping.

"I can't imagine you with hair like that," Flora commented, staring at his head, "Really, it's hard to think of you sporting anything other than your top hat."

This got another affectionate laugh from Layton.

"As strange as it may sound, an afro wasn't even the strangest style that I've tried over the years," he admitted.

"Really?" asked Luke, his eyes widening in curiosity, "What could possibly be stranger than that?"

"I'm surprised that your father hasn't told you," Layton answered, "You see, by the time I became a student in Gressenheller and first met him, afros were going quite out of style. We were both young men who wanted to make an impression, so our styles reflected what we thought looked best at the time."

"That was when dad started to grow his beard, wasn't it?" Luke checked, taking a seat on the floor beside Layton's armchair. Flora joined him, also interested to see where this story was going.

"Indeed it was," confirmed Layton, "We planned to be the finest looking young men that the university had ever seen. So, your father began to grow his beard and I chose to try out a moustache."

"A moustache?" both children gaped.

Layton looked slightly embarrassed; "Yes. At the time it seemed like a wonderful idea. But looking back, it wasn't really one of my smartest moves."

"So did you grow a big, droopy moustache like Inspector Chelmey?" questioned Luke.

"Don't be silly. He would have had a long, sticky-out one like Don Paolo has," Flora insisted.

"Actually, my own attempt wasn't quite as elaborate as either of those. It was little more than enough to cover my upper lip," Layton admitted.

"Cor, I can just imagine you and dad walking around Gressenheller like that," murmured Luke, vaguely in awe.

"We did think that we were the bee's knees," Layton confirmed.

"So what made you decide to shave it off?" said Flora.

"Well, that particular reason came down to a young lady I was interested in at the time," Layton replied. He didn't feel entirely comfortable talking directly about Claire to the children, so he tended to refer to her using vague terms; "She… didn't like it very much. Without a doubt, she was a very headstrong young woman and she associated moustaches with the sort of high society that she disapproved of."

"And you shaved off your moustache so you could be with her? That's so romantic!" Flora sighed, dreamily.

"Romantic isn't the term that I would use," Layton admitted, "As a matter of fact, I ended up with several cuts above my lip and she thought I looked very silly."

_She still kissed me though,_ he added to himself. _Maybe she was laughing, but she kissed me all the same._

"That's horrible!" gasped Luke, "When I get older, I'm going to grow a really huge moustache and no girl's going to tell me to shave it off."

"I'm sure we shall see, my boy," hummed Layton. He had a feeling that as soon as he met the right person, that Luke would be eating those words.

"I think it shows what a gentleman the Professor is that he'd do that to make a lady happy," retorted Flora.

Luke frowned; "In that case, you can go around asking boys to shave off their moustaches and I'll bet they just ignore you."

"That's not fair! Just because you're a rude little boy, it doesn't mean that everyone is," she replied.

"I'm not rude, I'm a future gentleman. Even if I don't want to shave off my moustache, it doesn't mean I'm not a gentleman. Some girls might like them," Luke insisted.

"You don't even have a moustache yet!" shot Flora, "Professor, please tell him!"

"I think that this is a matter you two would do best to sort out between yourselves," said Layton, getting up to take his empty tea cup back through to the kitchen. Really, doing so was just an excuse to get out of the line of fire.

"See? The Professor thinks that you're being so unreasonable that he won't even give you a response," Flora said to Luke.

"No, he thinks that there's nothing wrong with moustaches, so he doesn't want to stop me from growing one," argued Luke, "He just won't tell you that because a gentleman doesn't correct a lady."

"You'll never be a gentleman if you keep arguing with me like that."

Layton shut the living room door to drown out the noise. Really, the two of them would argue about the smallest of things.

At least he was fortunate in that it had distracted them enough that they hadn't asked to see any photos. He still had a few around the house somewhere, but he'd rather they didn't see the light of day.

Idly taking his wallet out of his pocket, he flipped to the one photo from that time that he really didn't mind – a shot of him standing with Claire, his lip covered in white specks of tissue to stop the bleeding from where he'd shaved the moustache off. They were both smiling. Despite the pain and embarrassment, that had been one of the happiest days of his life.

Putting the wallet away, Layton continued through to the kitchen, merrily beginning to wash the dishes to the tune of Luke and Flora arguing in the distance.

All was well in the Layton household.


	29. Layton & Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton is invited to a formal event, where he finds himself talking to Bill Hawks about the part he played in the disaster ten years ago that had cost Layton his loved one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL3.

The Professor felt a good deal of discomfort by attending this event. It was a social gathering to celebrate the Prime Minister being returned safely after the events of his kidnapping. If it had been down to him, he wouldn't have been here at all, but one couldn't refuse an invitation from the Prime Minister himself without causing more trouble than it was worth.

Even when that Prime Minister was Bill Hawks.

So far, he'd done a good job of hanging around the edges of the hall that this celebration was taking place in, picking the odd bit of cheese-on-a-stick from one of the many buffet tables provided. He didn't know any of the people there save for Bill and his wife, as the others were all high-up political figures and has-been celebrities. He was sure they were important enough for him to want to avoid offending, so staying out of the way seemed like the best option.

It was unavoidable that the whole evening would go without incident, however.

"There you are!" called a female voice. Layton turned to see Bill's wife, Caroline, rushing towards him; "So you're the man who saved my dear Bill from that awful death trap. I'm glad to have the opportunity to thank you."

"You're more than welcome, madam," Layton mumbled awkwardly.

"Don't be so rude, Bill! Do come over and talk to the man who saved your life," Caroline hissed, looking away from Layton and into the crowd.

Reluctantly, Bill excused himself from the people he was talking to and shuffled over. There was a definite air that neither he nor Layton wanted to talk to each other that Caroline forcibly ignored.

"Prime Minister," Layton greeted tipping his hat, "Thank you so much for your invitation."

"It was Caroline's idea," Bill muttered.

"Yes, it was. And thank you for coming. We weren't sure if you'd have time, what with the busy life that someone like yourself must lead," said Caroline. From the look on Bill's face, he'd been more than hoping that Layton wouldn't come.

"I could never refuse an invitation from the Prime Minister or his charming wife. That would not be what a gentleman does," assured Layton.

In truth, his schedule wasn't quite as busy these days as Caroline had made it out to be. Since Luke had left, he'd been reluctant to take on solving any new mysteries, instead opting to keep up with his work at the university and trying to be a more present father-figure in Flora's life.

"We're very glad to hear that," Caroline replied, "Now, I'll let you two talk while I catch up with a few friends."

She disappeared into the crowd. Layton half expected Bill to just leave, but apparently he was nervous enough of his wife to stay put when she told him to.

"She was very bored at that farce Dimitri set up. And I did cause her a lot of worry. I owe this to her," he murmured.

"That's… very noble of you," replied Layton. He never expected the Prime Minister to think of anyone other than himself, from what he'd seen and heard about the incident.

There was a lengthy silence.

"I suppose you don't want to be here," Bill said, after about a minute.

"As I said, I cannot ignore a summons from the Prime Minister," repeated Layton, "But I do feel that I'm probably a bit out of place amongst your other guests."

"You're a hero who saved London," argued Bill, "Whether you think you are or not, you're at least twice as famous as most of the people here."

"Fame is not important to me," insisted Layton.

"Isn't fame what everyone wants? The good kind of fame, I mean," Bill argued. He himself had sold his life away to gain the ultimate seat of power, bargaining and betraying as many as could be slipped under the rug until he'd reached the top.

Layton answered, "What I want is to spend a peaceful life with my loved ones."

Those two final words echoed between them. It was clear that Layton was thinly veiling who he was talking about and, because of Bill, he would now never be able to spend his life with that person.

"You don't need to beat around the bush, Layton. If you want to say something to me then say it," confronted Bill.

But what could he say?

Had he been a lesser man, he would have accused Bill of murdering Claire the moment he'd gotten a shred of evidence towards it, but life wasn't that simple. The situation was not so black and white.

"I just want to know the truth," he opted for.

Bill snorted; "Given your nature, I doubt that you'll take anything anyone says as the truth unless all the evidence points towards it being so. But I'll give you my side of the story. Whether you choose to believe it or not is your business."

"That's all I ask for," Layton assured him.

"Very well," replied Bill. He looked around. Surely it wouldn't be good for the Prime Minister to be heard discussing the death of a young woman, no matter how long ago it had occurred. That was how rumours got started. So he walked away from the buffet table, Layton following him until they were both stood in the doorway to one of the private corridors that guests weren't allowed to access. They were more inside than out, so any passersby seemed to read into that he didn't want to be disturbed and steered away. Then he continued, "I know that you probably see me as a cruel individual who murdered her."

"Murder is a strong word, Prime Minister," corrected Layton, "I'm sure that you didn't perform that experiment with the intent of anyone being killed."

"That's exactly it. You see, we knew the risks when we did it. Dimitri was concerned about every little detail, he wanted the machine to be perfect before we threw so much as a feather into the future, but we had to get on. I grew impatient. And so did Claire," said Bill, watching Layton's face break into a look of mild surprise, "What? You didn't think that I dragged her into the time machine kicking and screaming, did you?"

"Of course not," mumbled Layton.

That would have been too easy. It was tempting to fall into the trap of assuming that everything that had happened had been down to this man, but realistically, this couldn't have been the case.

"So yeah, Claire was eager to get on and we were both sick of waiting for Dimitri. We went ahead with the experiment regardless, she volunteered to be the one to go inside the machine and you know the rest," Bill went on. He didn't add that he hadn't argued too much when she'd brought it up. Or that he'd pretended to be unconscious when Dimitri had rushed in to find them after the explosion. That was something only he needed to know.

"Indeed I do," confirmed Layton, "Although you did try to stop me from finding out any further information quite forcibly."

Which was a mild way to put the months he'd had to spend in hospital as a young man, after being beaten up by men he couldn't even remember for looking too deeply into the case surrounding Claire's murder.

"Do you have a scrap of evidence that I sent them after you?" Bill enquired.

"You know that I don't," answered Layton.

"Well, there you go then. You of all people should know that you shouldn't point your finger if you can't back up your claim. There was… a lot happening at that time. It was very messy. I was just trying to sort things out to go as smoothly as possible," argued Bill.

_And brush as much evidence connected to you under the rug as you possibly could,_ Layton thought. Not that he would ever say such things out loud.

"I'm sure that the whole incident has wrapped up in the best way it could now that it's received proper closure. Thank you for your words, Prime Minister. I'll allow you to get back to your other guests now," concluded Layton.

But Bill wasn't ready to finish just yet; "You can't seriously side with a criminal, Layton."

"It would be impossible to think that what Clive had done was correct," agreed Layton, "He was clearly not of sound mind and to protect the lives of many, he needed to be stopped. But at the same time, if you had been upfront about what had happened-"

"It wouldn't have changed anything," snarled Bill, "He would have still come after me, even if I'd spent every day of my life apologising for what happened. What can you say about a boy who believes that the solution to the death of his parents is to wipe out all of London? I never suspected that an orphaned child would have gone so far."

"And what if you had suspected?" Layton checked. Would he have sent people after Clive in the same way he had done Layton?

"I would have kept a closer eye on him," Bill replied, carefully; "But it's all over now. We can't change what is done."

"We cannot," agreed Layton.

He felt that he would have spent the rest of his life with Claire if he'd been given the chance to, but he was not the sort of person who believed that history should be changed. What had happened was tragic and would haunt the back of his mind for as long as he lived, but he'd had a chance to see Claire one final time that no one else in the world that had lost a loved one had ever been given. In a cruel way, if she hadn't stepped into that time machine, he both never would have lost her and never would have been given the chance to say goodbye to her ten years later.

"Is that all?" Bill said, cutting into his thoughts.

It probably wasn't, but it was all that Layton could think to ask for at this moment in time.

"Yes, thank you for answering my questions," he replied.

"Yeah, well, thanks for listening to my answers," mumbled Bill.

_Thanks for not going off on a rampage and trying to destroy London because your loved one dying was technically my fault,_ Bill added in his mind.

"I like to hear what everyone has to say before coming to a conclusion," Layton said.

"You go to the prison a lot," Bill put forward.

"That is because I feel… that it is my duty to be the person he can lean on," he reasoned, "The man has no one," a feeling that Layton himself could relate to for a long time after Claire's death, "My time spent there does not mean I think he was in the right. He himself no longer believes that he was. But no one deserves to be abandoned by everyone and if being the one person there for him is the only way I can fix the damage, then that is what I will do."

"You're very noble," dismissed Bill.

"I am human, Prime Minister," Layton answered.

"And so am I," Bill confirmed.

The world would do well to remember that.

There was nothing more that needed to be said after this. Thankfully for them both, Caroline chose that moment to wave Bill away, so that he could talk to a French ambassador who Layton was unfamiliar with. Blissfully unaware of the conversation that had gone on between them; Caroline gave Layton a warm smile before returning to the conversation she'd been having. She didn't seem so bad, really. She was… human. Just like they were. And humans were not creatures who could be categorised as good or evil so easily. Everyone had a bit of both.

Even Bill Hawks.

For the moment, Layton decided that this was the best place to end his deductions on. He'd go throughout the rest of the night as if nothing had happened, before returning home to Flora. Because even with all that he had lost, Flora was a part of his family who was still here and it was his duty to care for her. When he could help it, Layton would never let another person down. While he didn't think that made him a person who was wholly good, it at least assured him that he could try as hard as he could to do the right thing with the time that he had on this world. He'd live his life to the best he could be, like he felt that Claire would have wanted him to do.

This was all he could strive for.


	30. Crow/Badger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Badger was usually the quiet sort who didn't argue about anything if it could be avoided, but right now he really had a bone to pick about what had become of the Black Ravens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set about two years post-PL4.

If you knew in yourself that you wanted a job where you could avoid talking to people as much as possible, then working in a black market probably wouldn't be the first career you'd choose.

But for Badger, working here had turned out just fine.

That wasn't to say that this was strictly a job. They were just kids, after all, looking to make a bit of extra money. Sure, they all took it really seriously, but that still didn't make it a real job. Or at least, that was what he'd figured before.

Badger's job within the Black Ravens was to be a lookout and a runner. He kept an eye on potential customers from the rooftops, ready to report back to Crow, and when they did need to bring the Black Raven himself out into the open, Badger was the one who could run the fastest while wearing the costume. There wasn't a lot of talking involved, just watching and running. Which suited Badger just fine.

Or at least it had done before the black market itself began to change.

It had been a year after Hershel Layton had solved the mystery of the spectre before the Golden Garden was revealed to the general public and another year on since its reveal had resulted in Misthallery becoming busier than it had ever been. Tourists were intrigued by this remote town with its mysterious garden and wanted to get a glimpse of it with their own eyes. As a result of this, almost every business in Misthallery found itself with a lot more custom thrown in its direction.

This included the Black Ravens.

They had become almost as much of a staple in what to do when you visited Misthallery as the Golden Garden itself. They were even in the brochure! It didn't matter that most of the locals were aware of the truth at this point, because everyone knew they were mostly harmless and that bringing a bit more money into the area didn't hurt.

But… it kind of mattered to Badger. Although he never really voiced this, because he didn't like confrontation. Somehow having everyone know they were just a bunch of kids dressing up junk as riches seemed to defeat the point of even using the Black Raven disguise in the first place.

On top of that, the black market became unmanageably busy. He hardly ever saw Crow anymore, as their self-appointed leader mostly holed himself away in the backroom of the auction house, where there was the most work to be done. It was like they weren't even friends anymore. They were all just workers getting on with a job.

"But this isn't even a real job! We're just kids and this was supposed to only be so we could make a bit of money to buy sweets and toys and stuff!"

That had been what he'd said two minutes ago.

Within that time, Crow hadn't spoken a word, allowing him to think about everything that had led him up to this point.

As much as he didn't like confrontation, Badger had reached the point where he couldn't stand working like this anymore. It was no longer just keeping lookout for the occasional customer, because they were guaranteed at least thirty of those a day at minimum anyway. It was all just running around as the Black Raven, trying not to trip over the tourists, who got more and more daring during their trips to the rooftops to catch them.

It wasn't fun anymore.

He'd had to come down to the hideout, somewhere that he rarely ventured, to talk to Crow. They were supposed to be friends. Surely if something was wrong, then Crow should listen to his concerns.

And yet, he'd been sat there waiting for Crow to reply to his outburst for an increasing length of time, feeling ever more uncomfortable.

Just as he was about to bid himself out, however, Crow finally spoke up; "This whole Black Raven thing has gotten really big, Badger."

"Do you think we don't all know that already? We're all giving up pretty much any free time we have to do this," Badger replied.

"And it's only going to get busier the more people who come here to see the Golden Garden. At least until it stops being fresh and interesting," Crow went on, "Which means the only choices we have are to either up our game or stop altogether. There's no way we can go back to how it was before, that would be impossible."

"I know that…" Badger mumbled. Part of the reason he hadn't brought this up earlier was because he knew there was nothing that could be done to change it; "But… I don't enjoy it now. I kind of… I-I'm not even sure if I want to do this."

For a moment, he was sure he saw a note of sadness in Crow's expression, though this was soon masked with his usual cool indifference.

"I'm not… I can't make you stay if you don't want to. But you're wrong about what you said earlier – this is a real job. We're probably making more money than most people in Misthallery are, especially since the factory closed. Where else are you going to find work around here? We're a tiny nowhere town," he said.

"That's not something I want to think about. I just want to be a kid," Badger argued.

"Then you were born into the wrong sort of family," retorted Crow, "Not that I'm saying there's anything wrong with your mum, before you get angry, but none of us have the kind of money to sit around and just be kids. The Black Ravens is the best bet we have."

"What's the point in making money if we don't have the time to just hang out and spend it anymore?" shot Badger, surprised at his own confidence.

"It helps pay for stuff…" muttered Crow, not looking at him.

"What stuff? I hardly ever see you leave this place anymore. What could you possibly be spending the money on?" Badger demanded.

There was another lapse of silence, although thankfully not as long as the first one, before Crow said, "It's not for me."

"Then who are you giving-"

Realisation dawned upon Badger before he could even finish that sentence. He jammed his mouth stuck, wishing he could take away the damage that was already in the air.

"We're not kids anymore, Badger, we're really not. And we're just going to keep getting older until we're useless and can't work anymore. Just like…" Crow trailed off, both unable to bring himself to finish and knowing that he didn't need to anyway.

Just like Crow's old man.

Badger could have kicked himself. He'd been so stupid not to figure it out sooner. Of course Crow was doing all of this to help pay his family's way. It wasn't as if he was really some sort of selfish money-grabber.

He walked over, gingerly putting a hand onto Crow's shoulder. At best, Badger was nervous even just talking to people, so this kind of display of affection had him quite terrified on the inside.

"You shouldn't have all of that put on you. It's not fair," he said.

Crow snorted, "The first thing they teach you is that life isn't fair, Badger. You know that. Maybe it isn't fair, but I can do this and know that I'm helping the best I can."

"That's… that's very noble of you," replied Badger, not quite knowing what to say.

"Yeah, but I'd never force you into this if you really don't want to do it anymore. Just that I'd appreciate this if you didn't tell the others about this," Crow murmured, "It's not that I don't trust 'em, it's just that I've got to keep up my image. You and me have been friends for a long time so…" He didn't really know how to finish, because he wasn't sure why he felt it was easier to tell Badger about any of this than he did the others, just that he knew that it was.

Badger surprised both of them by suddenly pulling Crow into a hug in response. He was much taller than Crow was, so being held by him felt pretty nice. Crow found himself resting his head against Badger's chest, listening to his heart beating ten to the dozen. He was nervous. Everything about dealing with people made Badger nervous. So Crow had no doubt that he was just short of having a panic attack right now.

"If you think I'm leaving after all that, then you really are dumb," Badger mumbled into Crow's hat.

Despite himself, Crow smiled.

"But that sounds kind of like blackmail," he pointed out.

"Only if being your friend counts as blackmail," Badger insisted.

On some horrible level, friendship sometimes does. But on a nicer level, it also counted for having someone you could depend throughout anything. Because of that, Crow was glad to have so many friends. But at this moment in time, he was especially glad of Badger and this hug.

"Thanks, Badger. I… don't know what else to say. Just I'm sorry that things aren't so great right now, I guess," Crow concluded.

"Nah, I was just moaning. Things are fine, really," Badger lied; though it was a lie that he could deal with, "And you said so yourself – this is only going to last as long as Misthallery is a popular place for tourists to go to. It'll die down eventually. So we might as well milk it best we can while its here."

"You're starting to sound too much like me," Crow chuckled.

"Maybe sometimes that's not a bad thing," said Badger, "But not all the time. You need the rest of us to remind you to just enjoy yourself sometimes, too." He tried to think of something else to say that would enforce this point, "Come on, why don't we go get some sweets from Aunt Taffy? I'm sure a little break wouldn't hurt."

"I don't want to."

"But-"

"I'm not working right now, am I?"

Badger had to admit that he wasn't. Though the sudden reminder that they'd been hugging all this time brought his nerves back.

"Do you… w-want to just, um, stay like this?" he asked.

"For a little while, yeah. If you don't mind," Crow answered.

"No," Badger assured him, resting his head on top of Crow's, "I really don't mind."


	31. Raymond & Nigel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raymond sat at a pub, listening to Nigel complain about his life. As far as he knew, there wasn't a punch-line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL5 and written before PL6 came out, so AU that disregards PL6, I suppose.

Wednesday evenings had been, possibly throughout history, the evening when you would seem to unavoidably have some sort of obligation to see to. Nobody knew exactly why this was, just that regardless of how free you tried to keep your schedule, Wednesdays seemed to be the one day that managed to worm something in to keep you otherwise occupied.

With this knowledge in mind, Raymond would always manage to get them off work, simply through pretending he was otherwise engaged during this time.

Descole never liked that his man-servant would disappear for a few hours half way through the week, but he had to admit that he was obliged to give him at least that much time to himself. Not legally obliged, of course. Because what did Descole care of the law? But as a human being, he was aware that there was only so far he could stretch Raymond, despite him constantly testing that limit.

So there Raymond was, sat in a little nowhere pub in Reading, staring at the walls and just draining his mind of Descole's eccentric plans for at least a few hours.

"Sometimes I feel as if we're all being had. Like it's not real, none of it. That Vera lady from down the… the… you know, cabaret? What's a pretty lady like her doing out here, when she could be making a name for herself in the city? Or that guy who has the cameras? His name slips my mind, but no one knows anything about cameras and he could make a killing from fixing them for people. But they all just hang around Folsense and I really don't get it."

Also, Nigel was there.

Nigel worked as a butler for some duke called Anton, as far as Raymond could tell, and took the similar route of trying to slip as far away as possible from work every now and again to free himself of his employer. Reading had been a good choice for both of them to put the right amount of distance between them and their places of work. Although Nigel didn't turn up every week, since his positioned seemed very definitely full-time, when he was there, Raymond at least enjoyed listening to someone else who had a similar sort of role in life as he did.

"Mm," Raymond grunted, to show that Nigel still had his attention.

"Sometimes I'm not even sure if I'm real," Nigel continued, "Do I look real to you?"

Raymond stared him up and down. Nigel was an odd chap, could easily be confused for a vampire in the wrong- …actually, in most lights, but even after a few drinks, Raymond was sure that he'd be aware if someone wasn't actually there.

"Ya look real enough ta me," he replied.

Nigel nodded; "I suppose that I'm worrying about nothing. It just all gets a little… troubling at time. Nothing ever seems quite like it's in place. Kind of like… like we're living in a music box that someone's constantly keeping wound up, just doing exactly the same dance every day without ever really realising it, because that's what we've been made to do."

"That all sound a bit deep ta me," droned Raymond, "Yer just lucky that ya have the same place ta go home ta every night. Ah git kept travellin' aboot so much that ah never know where ah'm gonna lay me head from one day ta the next."

He was always very careful never to give away details, but he let Nigel know enough about his job to know that it involved moving around from one place to the next frequently. Which explained why he might go for months on end without coming here, before settling back into a regular habit. Nigel never asked questions, so Raymond assumed that the explanation went without being too suspicious.

"Yes, yes, mustn't grumble," Nigel agreed, "I can be a little self-involved at times, but that's to be expected when I go for most days with only my own company and that of the master."

"Do ya never think aboot goin' ta see those villagers? Ya gan on aboot them enough," suggested Raymond.

"The master is… rather not fond of company. I'd rather not do anything that went against his rules," Nigel evaded.

"Ah suppose ah can understand that," Raymond agreed.

For the most part, his life consisted only of him and Descole. He was the one person who Descole confided in about any of his plans. It was Raymond's duty to hang back and not be seen, so that he could pull Descole out of any situations that got too difficult.

The thing about having a job that required you to not be easily identifiable was that it meant you didn't get to talk to a great deal many people.

These occasional meetings with Nigel were about as much conversation as Raymond got outside of Descole. And even those depended upon both of them just happening to be here at the same time.

"You do seem like a man who-"

"Raymond?"

Both of their heads moved towards the door, where a man whose face was hidden by a thick hood stood, radiating an aura of annoyance. It was hard for Raymond not roll his eyes at this. Descole was a master of disguise and could easily blend into any crowd that he wanted, yet here he was, sticking out like a sore thumb in an outfit that couldn't draw more attention to him if he tried. He looked so suspicious that half of the pub probably expected him to sit down and try to sell them something dodgy.

In many ways, Descole liked to be the center of attention, even at times when he wasn't allowed to show his face.

"Yes?" said Raymond. Normally there'd be a 'master' at the end of that statement, but that would risk drawing even more attention to their situation than was necessary right now.

"What are you doing here when we have… things to see to? He's on the move now. We're very close. I can feel it," Descole replied. It was clear he was talking about Layton from how much trouble he was having keeping the excitement out of his voice.

Reproachfully, Raymond reminded, "This is mah evening off."

"We don't have time for that! You can have all the time to yourself in the world when we're done, but right now I need you by my side," hissed Descole.

"All right. Just let me finish mah drink first," Raymond said, stubbornly.

"Very well, but don't take all night about it!" snapped Descole, turning to leave in a whirl of over-sized coats.

"Your master?" asked Nigel.

"The one an' only," Raymond answered, downing his drink, "Ah shouldn't keep him waiting too long. He can be right difficult when he gits inta one of these moods." He pulled himself up off his seat.

"I shall not keep you then," Nigel replied, "Until next time."

"Aye."

Assuming there would be a next time and this final plan wouldn't land him in an early grave. It was all turning rather dangerous lately and while Raymond didn't doubt his own skills, he wasn't getting any younger.

But that was all a bit too depressing and not what Nigel needed to know.

He bid himself farewell and headed out to where Descole was waiting in front of the carriage, making no effort to mask his impatience. He must have driven it here himself, which was quite a risky thing for him to do.

"Get a move on then! I don't understand why you want to spend your time in such a hovel anyway," muttered Descole.

"Ah like ta catch up. Ah have… a friend from Folsense 'oo drops in sometimes," informed Raymond, as he climbed onto the front of the carriage, ready to drive them off.

"Folsense? But that's miles away," Descole commented, as he made to get into the back of the carriage, "Far more than a day's drive."

"Ah don't ask the man his business more than ah need ta know," said Raymond, "Maybe he just wants ta get away from his troubles that much."

Which… didn't make a lot of sense, seeing as Nigel implied his role kept him busy at pretty much all times. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he was there, so he'd had to have gotten there somehow.

He was a real person, after all.

"Where was your friend anyway?" Descole questioned, from inside the carriage, "I didn't see him when I came to fetch you."

"He was sat right there," said Raymond, "The creepy lookin' bloke with the long nose."

"Um, all right. Are you sure that you're not too intoxicated to drive?" Descole checked.

"Ah'm fine. Ah only had a few," Raymond retorted, defensively.

"If you say so," Descole dismissed.

Perhaps he'd just overlooked this friend when he'd gone to fetch Raymond. After all, it was unlikely that his manservant had just fabricated an entire person just to talk to, wasn't it?


	32. Randall/Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall does not ask, he simply does. And today, what he wants to do is listen to Henry's heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL5.

Depending on who you asked, Randall was either the pushiest and most disagreeable person in the world or else he was a loyal friend who just didn't have much value for personal space. Henry liked to think of him as the latter. After spending the last eighteen years devoting his entire life to finding Randall alive, he wasn't about to let any negative thoughts about the man cross his mind now that he had returned.

All the same, a little more concern for personal space would have been nice.

Randall never asked permission - he simply did what he wanted and expected that you'd be okay with it. In the case of Henry, whose whole life was serving Randall, he was usually fine with mostly anything he did. But at the same time, Henry had gone for so long with his life being more fixated on the cause of finding Randall than it was on Randall himself. Because of that, he'd become a stranger to physical contact from other people. His relationship with Angela had been set up in order to protect her and was never actually anything more than simply platonic. Even friendly hugs between him and her had felt strange, so they'd silently agreed not to do such things over the course of their staged relationship.

But now Randall was here and he was big on being affectionate. Grabbing someone in a headlock or a hug were about as common as saying hello was to him. It was a little strange to readjust to having someone like that in your life. A good kind of strange, however.

So, despite being a little unnerved, he wasn't all that surprised when Randall would hug him, such as he'd chosen to do on this occasion. The two of them were sat on a sofa in the lounge and Randall had instinctively cuddled into him. It was a slow day, the weather was warm without being unbearable and Angela had stepped out for a while, so without anything that pressingly needed to be seen to, Henry had no reason not to stay there with him. On top of that, it felt nice.

Or at least, it had been before Randall's head hand purposefully slipped down his chest. Henry knew for certain that he wasn't trying anything, that he was still too enamoured with his revived relationship with Angela to even consider anything like that, but while he knew Randall's intents were innocent, he had no idea what exactly those intents were.

The head stopped against Henry's chest and Randall closed his eyes, settling into place. To anyone who hadn't known them, this would have seemed quite questionable, but to Randall, this was just where he wanted to be, so this was where he would be.

"Master Randall...?" Henry prompted.

"Hmm?"

"Wh-what are you- ...I mean, um..."

Henry didn't like questioning Randall's actions where it was avoidable.

Fortunately for him, Randall had a quick answer; "I was just listening to your heartbeat. I kind of wanted to. It feels nice."

"It does?" asked Henry.

If he had been nervous before, that feeling tripled upon hearing that. Which he could only imagine reflected upon his beating heart. As things stood, he found Randall quite attractive. This was something that he'd long been aware of, but was content with simply serving Randall and Angela. As long as they were happy, he was happy. That was all that he wanted from life. And yet... being close to Randall like this almost literally made his heart flutter.

Something that Randall himself was now apparently paying attention to.

"Yeah, it really does," Randall went on, "You have such a great heartbeat. When I listen to Angela's, hers beats in such a serene and relaxed way, but yours is really fast. Its busy, like you always are. I guess both of your heartbeats suit who you are." He chuckled, as if he'd just made a private joke.

"Thank you, Master Randall," replied Henry, not quite sure what to say to that. It had sounded enough like a compliment for him to take it as one.

That small expression of gratitude served as the last thing they said to each other for at least the next hour. Randall just lay there, head pressed against Henry's chest, acting so uncharacteristically calm that it was almost unbelievable. After a while, Henry became so comfortable that he wanted to stroke his hair, but he knew that would be outside of the boundaries between them. Henry Ledore did not overstep boundaries.

And then, as suddenly as he had started; "All right, time to get back to work."

"Work?" Henry looked down at Randall.

"Yeah, I'm sure we've both got plenty to do," Randall confirmed, pulling himself off the sofa and stretching.

"But Master Randall, you are... currently unemployed," Henry delicately reminded.

"Then I should make myself useful by helping you," laughed Randall, "Surely you have work to do."

"Y-yes," Henry admitted. All of the housework, if he was entirely honest. But all the same, part of him just wanted to stay there just a little longer...

"Come on then, time waits for no man," Randall chimed, moving to leave.

"Master Randall?"

"Yes?"

"Perhaps sometime, when you're not so busy, perhaps... I could listen to your heartbeat?"

A smile.

"Sure."

It wasn't until much later that Henry found out that Angela had not asked the same thing. Somehow, Henry asking had clicked as significant in Randall's mind. But then, Randall's mind worked in ways that Henry could not claim to understand. He just knew that as long as he could be around Randall, he would be happy.


	33. Randall & Rosetta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randall talks Layton into letting him cover his class at the university and meets his match in Rosetta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL3.

"Come on Hershel, it'll be fun!"

"It's not a matter of me wanting to prevent you from enjoying yourself, Randall. It's just that I don't think that I'm legally allowed to let you cover my class," Layton explained, trying to let his friend down as gently as possible, "You need qualifications to become a professor and you need to be a professor to teach archaeology at university level."

Randall sighed audibly; "But we both know that I'm really good at it."

"Indeed, I do not doubt your skills in the field, but teaching-"

"And you really do need to spend more time with your daughter," Randall cut in, making a point of talking louder than Layton was.

"Yes," agreed Layton. He was definitely regretting even mentioning in passing to Randall that he would like to be there for Flora more than he was right now.

"Well then, it's a win-win situation," Randall concluded, "You take the day off to have some family bonding time and I live the dream of educating the next generation of budding young archaeologists."

"Have you been listening to anything that I've said? I can't let you cover my class because you're not qualified," argued Layton.

"Dean Delmona seemed okay with it."

"What?"

"Him and I had a little chat this morning. He was really quite fascinated to know that I taught the great Professor Layton almost everything that he knows about archaeology. And I helped him solve a few puzzles that his grandkids gave him, which seemed to put me in his good books," Randall explained.

"So let me get this straight," checked Layton, frowning visibly, "You went over my head, spoke to my employer and got him to approve this?"

Randall grinned widely; "Pretty much, yeah."

"Then why did you bother even having this conversation with me?" he enquired.

"Because it wouldn't be fair to just waltz in and take over without letting you know about it. And it's just for one day. Please Hershel, I've always wanted to do this!" Randall begged, leaning a little too close. A habit of his that had always unnerved Layton.

When he was younger, Layton often let Randall get his own way because he was a pushover who liked to avoid confrontation. As the years went on and he was forced to adjust to life without Randall, Layton liked to believe that he'd grown to become someone who didn't let himself get bossed around by others as much as he used to. But at the same time, when it came to Randall, agreeing with him usually ended up leading to an easy life.

So basically, nothing had really changed, even if he liked to pretend that it had.

"Very well, I suppose that if the Dean has permitted it, I see no reason to object," he concluded.

"Thanks, Hershel! You won't regret this!" Randall cheered.

"I sincerely hope not," replied Layton.

"Don't be such a worrywart! Now go spend some time with Flora while I spice up your class a little," Randall said, practically pushing him out of the door.

"All right, I'm going. But just so you're aware, you should probably watch out for-"

"Don't spoil the surprise, Hershel. If there are any problem students, I'd rather discover them on my own," Randall answered.

Quietly, Layton decided that it was best just to let him get on with it.

Although it certainly might have been helpful to Randall if he'd been given some advice about how to handle one of the more troublesome members of Layton's class. The others were generally accepting of this new supply teacher, albeit a little confused by his sudden appearance, Rosetta wasn't prepared to cut him any slack.

"Right, so now that we've established that I'm going to be covering for Professor Layton today, I'd like to draw your attention to the diagram on the board-"

"I've never seen you around the university before."

Randall scanned his eyes across the wave of students, until he spotted the one who'd spoke up; "I beg your pardon, Miss...?"

"Stone, Rosetta Stone. And I was saying, I've never seen you before. Are you sure that you're even a real professor, Mr. Ascot?" Rosetta replied.

"I'm sure that I'm the person who helped Hersh- ...I mean, Professor Layton become the expert that he is today," Randall evaded.

That turned out to be the wrong thing to say.

"Mr. L. is, like, the best in the whole world. Ever. No one is better than him," Rosetta defensively replied.

"I never said that I was better than him, just that the two of us used to spend all our time-"

"Where even is he, anyway? Has he gone off to solve more mysteries? He's so good at that! Also, Professor Hammond usually covers our class when he's not here, so why-"

"Miss Stone, it is rude to interrupt someone when they're talking," warned Randall.

"But you just did it yourself!" she protested.

"Only because you were asking questions that aren't your business to ask. What Layton does in his free time and who covers his class is none of yo-"

"Now that I think about it, you totally come across as the sort of person who interrupts people when they're talking all of the time," Rosetta mused loudly.

"In that case, we're in good company. Now if the next question doesn't have anything to do with archaeology then I'll have to ask you to leave," warned Randall.

The rest of the class stared at Rosetta to see if she'd take up the challenge. They'd spent the past few minutes turning their heads from Randall to Rosetta and they weren't about to pass up this chance to put off doing any actual work.

After a moment of thoughtful silence, Rosetta asked, "What exactly did you teach Mr. L. anyway? Since you think that you're so great."

"Well, I don't like to blow my own trumpet, but before I came along, Hershel- ...I mean Professor Lay- ...oh forget it, _Hershel,_ didn't really care for archaeology that much at all."

"You're lying!"

"No, I'm not. He was always very good at it, but it took me nagging him to get him to do anything about it. Maybe you've read about the Ruins of Akbadain? Well, Hershel and I were the first people to discover it's secrets," he replied.

This got a general murmur of impressed approval from the class.

Rosetta, however, was not one to be thrown so easily.

"I read that a guy called Henry Ledore discovered it," she argued.

"That's... sort of a long story," Randall admitted, looking awkward, "Hershel and I were the first ones to explore the ruins, Hershel discovered the treasure but didn't take credit for it, then Henry went there later looking for... something and ended up being the one to bring the treasure back."

"That sounds suspicious to me," Rosetta replied.

Randall answered, "It can sound however it wants, because it really doesn't have any bearing on what we're learning about today. Unless you believe there's some connection between Akbadain and the Celts. Though having said that, there are a few theories that I've come across in my time, but nothing that-"

"So after you went to the ruins, is that what convinced Mr. L. to become an archaeologist?" Rosetta cut in.

"Oh. Well... kind of. It's very personal and probably not something that he'd want me to discuss, but let's just say that he was carrying on a legacy," Randall mumbled.

"Before going on to make his own legacy as the super dreamy-"

"Miss Stone, this class is not the History of Hershel Layton!" Randall protested.

"Maybe it should be. He's way more interesting than the Celts," huffed Rosetta.

"I... can't entirely say that I disagree with you there, but I'm not here to teach you about your teacher," he debated.

"Come on! He's made loads of really important discoveries and it'd be, like, totally educational for us to get an insider's view about his work," she reasoned.

Randall had to admit to himself that he did enjoy talking about Hershel. It just wasn't very often that it was relevant for him to do so. But apparently this class, or at least, this girl, wanted him to talk about the person he enjoyed talking about the most, so...

"Very well, I suppose this is a bit of an unusual lesson anyway, so I guess it wouldn't hurt to cover a topic a bit outside of the curriculum."

His lesson seemed to pass as quickly as a British summer and before Randall knew what had happened, he was dismissing the students with a pleasant smile. Only to then find himself face-to-face with Layton again.

"Hershel? I thought you were spending time with Flora," he commented.

"I was, but I stop myself from checking up on how you were doing," Layton admitted, "One of my students is... rather fond of me and I've known her to tear into supply teachers at time because of that."

"You mean Rosetta? Yeah, she did seem to come across like that. Kind of rude and can't wait for her turn to talk," agreed Randall, "But we found a common ground to talk about."

"And what was that?" asked Layton.

"Mr. L.! Glad to see you're okay," Rosetta chimed, rushing over from where she'd been packing her books away.

"A-ah, Miss Stone. It's, um, a pleasure to see you," replied Layton, all but backing away.

"Yeah, well, just so you know, if you ever go off work again, you should totally let Mr. A. cover your class. He's way more interesting than boring old Hammond and I feel like I've learned a lot today," Rosetta said, "Well, I've got to go. Catch you later!"

She gave him a cheeky wink, before heading off to catch up with some of the other students.

Layton blinked, his face showing nothing but an expression of total confusion.

"Randall, I have no idea what you said to make her warm to you, but you have my respect for pulling it off," he admitted.

"What can I say? I'm just that good," Randall dodged, chuckling at a joke he wasn't going to explain to his friend.

If teaching Layton's class meant an hour of talking to a group of people about how amazing Layton was, then Randall felt that he'd definitely be glad to cover lessons a bit more frequently.


	34. Flora & Don Paolo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flora finds an unusual new hobby that she wants to take up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL3.

"The Professor isn't here right now, but I can get you a cup of tea if you'd like to wait for him to get back."

That had been how it had all started.

As embarrassing as it was for Don Paolo to admit, ever since he'd helped save the day when that deranged brat had tried to crush London with a mechanical fortress, no one seemed to see him as being a bad person anymore. Any attempts he made to make Layton's life miserable just seemed to fall flat, because Layton considered them to be friends now.

And so, it seemed, did his daughter, Flora.

Which had led to a few occasions when Don Paolo had broken into Layton's house, only to be sat down with a nice cup of tea and an inedible scone, before being told to wait until Layton got back from work. It was seriously destroying his reputation. Even more so when he considered that the whole thing could be avoided if he just learned Layton's work schedule better. Admittedly, he was just so used to the man going off on wild adventures that it was hard to think of him as being at Gressenheller University long enough to even have a schedule.

"It is very nice to have someone to talk to, actually," Flora said, on one such occasion when she'd walked in to find Don Paolo trying to sneak into the broom closet and instead brought him through to the living room, "It gets rather lonely waiting around for him to get back. Of course, I understand that his school day is longer than mine and sometimes he does have to work weekends, but all the same, a girl does like a bit of company, you know?"

"Hmm," muttered Don Paolo, dismissively.

"Although, if you do have other errands to see to, I can always tell him you dropped by when he gets back," she added, noting the impatience.

"No, I'll wait," Don Paolo assured her. Somehow having Layton told he'd come here was more embarrassing than being here himself waiting for him. He didn't trust Flora to pass on any messages he had for Layton with the correct amount of yelling.

Clearly running out of things to say, Flora tried to make light conversation; "Have you... made any good disguises lately?"

"What?" Don Paolo replied, raising an eyebrow at her.

"You know, all of those disguises of yours," she clarified, "You always do such a good job of imitating people that there's no way you're not making those costumes yourself."

"Ah, well, yes. I am. You didn't think that I could just walk into a shop and buy a Dr. Schrader outfit, did you?" he sneered.

"Or an outfit of me," Flora added.

"Um, quite right," mumbled Don Paolo. He'd been hoping she wouldn't bring that up.

"When the Professor and Luke were telling me about it, I was amazed," Flora went on, "They had no idea it wasn't really me for a while, so you must have done a brilliant job of impersonating me."

"It's not just about the outfit," Don Paolo informed, feeling awkward that they were even talking about this, "I mean, of course the outfit is very important and if it's not convincing enough, then nothing else is going to work either. But if you don't act exactly like the person you're pretending to be, then people pick up on it really quickly. Especially people like Layton. Though he usually figures it out eventually anyway..."

"But to have him fooled for even a little while must feel quite exciting," Flora insisted.

"Yes, yes it does," he agreed.

"You must have so much fun. I wish that I could become someone else, just for a short time, and then surprise everyone when it turns out to be me," she giggled.

"Kid, aren't you creeped out by what I do?" he checked, "Most people are."

"Not at all! I'd love to learn how to use disguises like you can," she replied.

"You ever made a costume before?"

"No."

"Can you sew?"

"I've... done a little sewing before."

"How are you at impersonating voices?"

"Luke tells me I can do a really funny impression of Inspector Chelmey when I want to."

"Right, we'll see what we can do."

Professor Layton came home that evening to find Flora hard at work sewing a very lumpy looking green jacket. Then the next day, he found her in front of the mirror, trying to look as angry as possible and reciting some rather generic police quotes in a hoarse voice. For days after that, he kept coming across her doing similar such things and if nothing else, she seemed to be getting better at the sewing, so he took pride in knowing that she'd finally found a hobby that was better suited to her than cooking.

It was many months later when he passed Inspector Chelmey on the way home from work, bid him a good afternoon and continued on his way without a backwards glance.

Because of that, he missed the moment when Chelmey leaned over to another policeman and whispered, "I think that I actually fooled him!"

"Wait until you get a speaking part, then it really gets difficult," the policeman grumbled back.

But secretly, Don Paolo was actually very proud of the progress that his unexpected student had made. This was the beginning of a very interesting friendship.


	35. Descole & Loosha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Descole finds out that Loosha may have been useful long after it was already too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL6.

"Are ya quite sure, master?" Raymond asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. And when you had eyebrows as thick as Raymond's were, raising them was indeed an interesting sight to see.

"Unfortunately so," Descole muttered, face still buried within the piles of books and papers he'd been pouring through, "Which would be just our luck."

"I don't think that anyone cares about the Golden Garden anymore, though. Or at least, nae one important. It'll just be tourists you'll have ta watch oot for," Raymond replied.

"Tourists are considerably easier to deal with than Targent would have been," Descole said. He never wanted to have to remind himself of them, but at the same time, it wasn't so bad when you were just reminding yourself that you didn't have to deal with them anymore.

"So, should I take us over there?" asked Raymond.

"Yes, please do. I'll carry on looking over these in case we've missed something," Descole answered.

Nodding silently, Raymond left to go pilot the aircraft. This sort of routine had become quite common between them these days – Descole would spend hours looking through documents about lost treasure, before summoning Raymond and instructing him to fly them to some obscure ruin, where the two of them would embark on their private little quests to obtain said treasure. Usually illegally.

Today was the first time that Descole had suggested travelling to somewhere so public and he was in himself completely aware of the dangers that doing so brought. It was for that exact reason that he'd been putting off this particular adventure for a while now, despite the fact that he kept happening across varies writings that had led him to this conclusion.

The most important part of the Golden Garden should have been the garden itself. That was exactly what he'd been searching for when he first went to Misthallery four years ago. The fact that there was a large sea creature of unknown origins trying to stop him had, at the time, been nothing more than a mere obstacle for him to overcome.

But no, years later it turned out that Loosha was more valuable than he could have expected.

The blubber of her species, according to what he'd read, was actually quite similar to that of most whales, meaning that it had some marginal worth in the train oil market. This alone wasn't enough to get Descole's attention, as he was not at all interested in the idea of hunting aquatic mammals for oil. But further reading showed that the meat of Loosha's kind had a much higher wealth amongst the upper-classes. At one time it had been a much craved delicacy that had only soared up in price as the species itself rapidly declined in numbers.

Now thought to be extinct, Loosha could fetch the highest price if sold on to the correct person through the black market. And helping wealthy citizens part with their money certainly was something that grabbed Descole's attention at least enough to make today worthwhile.

The one problem was that Loosha really was extinct.

A few years ago, her body had sunk to the bottom of the deep lake within the Golden Garden and with it, in all likelihood, went the last of her kind.

However, that wailing creature had somehow managed to find her way into that garden in the first place. So it wasn't impossible that there may have been more of her kind in the area. Which was what he hoped would prove to be the case.

It was nightfall before they arrived, landing some considerable distance away from Misthallery itself and walking the rest of the way to avoid attention. Descole donned a disguise that made him appear to be a casual visitor to the garden, probably a student there for research, if anyone was to ask. As usual, Raymond didn't bother with a disguise at all. This irked Descole, but he valued Raymond's help too much to draw attention to it unless his not wearing a disguise would prove foolish. No one from Misthallery had ever seen Raymond before, as Descole had been sure to mostly keep him away from the place during his first visit. The only people who might have seen him were a corrupt police chief called Jakes, who had long since been arrested, and Layton's gang. There was thankfully no chance of Layton or his apprentice showing up, since his sources had informed him that for whatever reason, they had taken a train to Dropstone today, a place nowhere near here. As for Emmy, her whereabouts were still unknown. But running into her was a risk Descole took regardless of where he was travelling.

Now that it was essentially just a magnet to draw in tourists, there was no need for the Golden Garden to have any kind of overnight security beyond a simple alarm on the gate that the two of them easily bypassed. As they walked down into the depths of the garden, Descole couldn't help but note exactly how down-trodden the grass had become due to frequently being walked upon by visitors.

"We'll never find anything if we just stay here," Descole said to Raymond, as they approached the edge of the lake, "Everyone comes here, so if one of those animals had so much as reared its head out of the water, then it would have been all over the newspapers. We need to try somewhere that's less accessible."

Raymond nodded in agreement and the two of them began to trek around the edge of the lake. At first, this seemed to be fruitless, as most of the lake's edge was what would be considered as a pleasant walk to most people and probably acted as just that. But after a while, they came to a place where the water bent around much rockier ground that only seemed to get steeper the further away it moved. While he didn't doubt that the more adventurous tourists would have tried, it was very clear that no one without the kind of expertise that both he and Raymond possessed would be able to make too much progress in crossing it.

"Hopefully none of them researchers would have bothered," Raymond called, as the two of them scaled around the rock-face.

"Everything they wanted was in plain sight," Descole replied, "And they were probably keen to preserve at least a bit of this place from human contact, so they didn't have to feel as bad from pocketing from it. No, I doubt that many have been here recently."

There was little conversation throughout the rest of the journey, as both men were too busy focusing on what they were doing. The water got much deeper quickly, so falling from the rocks wasn't particularly desirable.

After some time, they did manage to reach a small area of of flatter ground nestled between the rocks. It was slightly sandy and Descole did not need Raymond's comments about it to draw the same conclusion from it as his partner had.

"Looks like its bin walked on recently," said Raymond, "Maybe by some other animal, but hopefully what we're lookin' for."

"We'd do well to spend some time here to find out," Descole agreed.

He crouched down to get a closer look at the tracks. Thankfully, they obviously weren't from any sort of bird. It looked more like a small animal dragging itself along. Perhaps an adult seal. Or a young Loosha. Descole hoped for the latter.

They sat there for some time, with little more to do than feel the chill of the night's air. While Descole was content to just stare out over the water, Raymond eventually gave in to hunger and pulled a sandwich out of his pack. He offered one to Descole, but the irritable grunt he got in response was as much of a dismissal as he needed.

The sound of Raymond chewing was almost enough to distract Descole from the slight ripples that appeared in the water soon after. But if there was any chance of him ignoring them, it was soon gone, as several blue-grey lumps appeared above the surface, drifting towards them.

"I don't believe it!" Descole gasped. This was far too good to be true!

"Looks like the old gal wasn't the last one after all," Raymond added, as the first of the pups pulled itself onto the rocks.

"There's at least six of them," counted Descole, "They'd make enough money to fund our ventures until every last mystery on Earth has been uncovered."

"Aye, but I don't think that's what they're bothered aboot," Raymond replied.

The approaching pup snatched what remained of Raymond's sandwich out of his hand, swallowing it swiftly before crying for more. It wasn't alone in this, as the others had now also reached the shore and were all making what Descole could only describe as a horrible din.

"Do you have any more?" Descole snapped, darting over to grab Raymond's pack.

"Plenty, which is probably a good thing, I'd say," Raymond answered.

As soon as the pack was taken, the young Looshas were now at Descole's feet, whining up at him for more. He pulled several sandwiches out and threw them to the floor just to distract the demanding beasts for a few minutes.

"We'd better get the net ready," he said, hunting through the pack, "I'd planned for at least one animal the size of Loosha, so that should be enough for all of them."

"Maybe so. But is it enough for all o' them and that?"

"What do you- ...Oh."

The two were now faced with a fully-grown creature, that had risen out of the water to see what had caused such a commotion amongst its young.

"That's impossible! Surely someone woulda seen it before now!" Raymond gasped.

"Do you want to tell it that?" sneered Descole, before addressing the animal itself, "Hello Loosha, my old friend. I don't care that you're probably not the same one, you're all Loosha to me. And you're going to make me a pretty penny, aren't you?"

Although this Loosha had no way of comprehending any of what Descole had planned, it wasn't going to comply anyway, instead craning its large head forward and taking hold of the pack Descole held in its mouth.

"What are you doing? Let go!" Descole snarled, clutching onto the pack tightly.

This was definitely not the right choice to make, as the more powerful Loosha easily lifted him off the ground, shaking to try and dislodge him. Much of the content of the pack fell out and the younger Looshas squealed happily as they returned to the lake to try and snatch anything edible.

Raymond moved quickly, scrambling up the rocks until he was close enough to Loosha's head to make a grab for Descole. Raymond held out an arm and without much persuasion, Descole grabbed his hand, releasing his grip on the pack and allowing the new Loosha to have it. He crashed against Raymond. The two of them hissed in pain as they in-turn smacked against the rocks.

"The... the other pack!" Descole yelled, "It's still down there!"

"I'd leave it if I were you," warned Raymond.

They watched haplessly as, after discarding the now-empty first pack, Loosha then moved on to grab the second one from the rocks below them. It nudged the pack, before again grabbing it in its mouth and shaking free the contents. The only thing of interest to the Looshas were a few more small items of food that the younger ones chased after once they'd been dislodged. But everything else that had been inside, and the duo needed, was also lost to the water, sinking down before either of them could so much as get close.

"Curse these bloated manatees! We should have prepared better!" Descole spat.

"With all due respects, master, this was always just gan ta be a scoutin' trip. We never even expected ta find anythin'," Raymond consoled, "Now that we know they're here, we can better prepare fer next time."

"Yes, you are most certainly right," Descole agreed, "And fortunately no one else seems to have discovered them yet, either. So I assume it will be safe to leave them for a short while, before returning to capture them. We won't even have to sell them right away. I assume there will be at least one pair amongst them that we could potentially breed if we were to learn more about the species. So we'd just have to make a place to contain them then sell them on a few at a time as we don't need them any more."

"That's a heck of a lot o' Looshas," commented Rayond.

"Well, I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but in this case perhaps the more Looshas the better," Descole replied.

As they watched the little family return below the lake, leaving the two empty packs to bob on the surface, Raymond thought to himself that next time they tried this, it would be more a case of the more sandwiches the better.


	36. Randall/Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's moulting season and Randall is finding this fact particularly annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set soon after PL5.

The lounge was filled with the sound of violent scratching and regular bursts of irritable grunts. It had been a noise that Henry had been listening to for most of the morning and he had almost reached a stage of blocking it out in favour of getting the housework done. Which on this occasion, mostly consisted of sweeping stray feathers off the floor.

All the same, the intensity of the scratching bothered him, as he didn't want Randall to hurt himself. After silently debating with himself for a while about whether questioning Randall's actions was a good idea or not (and coming to the conclusion that, in light of recent events, it probably was a good idea), he finally spoke.

"Master Randall, I think you might cause yourself injury if you keep that up."

"This isn't fun, you know? If it was up to me, I'd just leave them alone," snapped Randall, before realising how shocked his tone had left Henry and adding in a calmer voice, "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm just annoyed at how itchy they get during moulting season."

He glared at one of the offending white wings that sprouted from his back. Ever since he'd come to live at Monte d'Or, he'd been grateful that neither Henry nor Angela had questioned or even been alarmed by the fact that he had them. And more than anything he'd been glad that Layton hadn't attempted to 'solve' that mystery. The wings were something that he just had to live with, along with the damn moulting that came with them.

"Perhaps I could help?" Henry offered.

Randall shook his head; "Mum just says I'll have to deal with this until it's over. I don't think there's anything that anyone else can do."

"Nonsense. What kind of a person would I be if I couldn't solve such a simple trouble that my master is having?" assured Henry, walking over to fetch something from one of the drawers.

"Simple trouble? I don't think many people would describe this in that way," Randall laughed.

Henry didn't reply, instead returning from the drawer with a brush held in one hand. He kneeled down behind Randall, who bent forward so that Henry could reach his wings easier. Though his first thoughts had been to object, he owed Henry a lot for everything he'd done, so the most important thing he could do was grant the man was his trust.

The brush was gently brought down upon one of the wings, closest to where it connected to Randall's back, while with his free hand Henry held the wing in place. He didn't force the brush through and because of that the loose feathers slid out with ease. On top of that, the bristles seemed to soothe the itching, which was what concerned Randall the most.

"That's... that's actually pretty good," he sighed, as Henry carried on, brushing further outwards as he went.

"I hope it helps," Henry commented, smiling to himself.

"Yeah. If you could just scratch a little harder-"

"I'm not here to itch your wing, I'm here to remove the loose feathers. Once they're gone, the itching will stop as well."

There was an loud whine that suggested Randall would rather there was more scratching involved, but he was enjoying himself too much to actually object. Instead he just continued to lean forward, staring at some point on the wall and allowing Henry to continue. As time went on, he felt his focus slipping and his mind was certainly managing to distract itself from the annoying prickles his wings felt as they itched.

He'd completely lost track of time when Henry put the brush down and, in all honesty, was so relaxed that he'd started to doze.

"Finished, Master Randall," said Henry, as Randall forced himself to wake up.

"Is that all of them?" Randall asked, looking over his shoulder.

"For the moment, though I don't doubt that your moulting season lasts longer than that," replied Henry, "By the time it's through, we may well have enough feathers to stuff a few of the pillows with."

"At least that'd be some use for them," Randall snorted, staring at the offending pile of feathers that had been collected, "But I'm not itchy any more, so I shouldn't complain. Thanks, Henry."

"Glad to have been of service," answered Henry, scooping the feathers into him arms so that they could be disposed of.

"Um, Henry?"

"Yes, Master Randall?"

"Do you think you could do that again tomorrow, if it acts up again?"

"Yes, Master Randall."


	37. Randall/Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Until he knows that all is well in the Ascot house, Henry rarely manages to get a good night's sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set when Randall and Henry are teenagers.

The chores that fell upon a servant of the Ascot family were varied and many, and they would also often take a long time to complete. So while Henry never knew what time he'd be finished working, he always knew that it would be long into the night before he was.

Winter was setting in and with it came the shorter days, meaning that by the time Henry was finally getting ready for bed, it was already pitch black outside. He settled under his covers, trying to distract his mind from idle thoughts long enough that he could go to sleep. Which was never an easy task, seeing as his mind was constantly thinking about what jobs would need to be doing the next day and how best to go about handling them. Caring for the Ascots was something that he didn't just take seriously, it was something that consumed his entire life. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Perhaps what was also keeping him awake, more so than thoughts of chores, was that he knew he wasn't the last person in the house to retire that evening. This was also nothing unusual as-

_-Crack!_

A twig snapped outside, followed by a sharp breath being drawn, as someone made to be silent.

...Yes, that would be Master Randall returning home.

He would often sneak out to meet up with his new friend Hershel, go on dates with the lovely Miss Angela, or else have various little archaeological adventures, either with his friends or on his own. Mostly just for the thrill of sneaking away outside the notice of his father, who didn't approve of him being out this late.

Regardless of where he'd been on this occasion, what was important to Henry was that he'd now safely got back. Rolling onto his side, Henry listened for the tell-tale creaks in the floorboards that would inform him that Master Randall had returned to his room. He could hear them well enough to get a picture in his mind of his friend making towards his own room, then hesitating for a moment and changing direction. Instead, he was coming towards the room that Henry stayed in.

Peeking his head inside the door, Randall hissed, "Henry, are you awake?"

"Yes, Master Randall," yawned Henry, sitting up to look at him.

"Good, I have something to tell you," Randall replied, walking in and quietly closing the door behind him. The threat of his father finding him wandering around late into the night was still present, after all. He crept over and sat on the edge of the bed, grinning proudly; "I went out to look at the ruins again and came across a great gift for Angie."

Reaching into his bag, Randall pulled out three pale blue flowers, that seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight.

"They look lovely, Master Randall," Henry assured him, "But you'll need to put them in water if you want them to last until tomorrow."

"Ah, you're right," chuckled Randall. He looked around, spotted the jug of water Henry kept on his bedside table and promptly placed the flowers within it. Henry didn't mind – Master Randall's eagerness to impress his partner always made him smile. It would have been a shame for such a lovely gift to get ruined. After admiring the flowers for a moment, Randall went on; "I can't wait to see her tomorrow, she's going to love them."

He then stretched and lay down on the bed next to Henry.

Looking down, Henry commented, "Aren't you worried about your father catching you? He probably won't be happy to find you still up and fully dressed at this time."

"Nah, I don't think he'll mind, as long as I'm still in the house," answered Randall, "Besides, I don't feel like going to my own room right now. I want to spend some time with you. And since you're always so busy all day, this is the only chance I'll get."

"I suppose you're right there," Henry admitted.

"Weren't you trying to get some sleep?" asked Randall, looking up at him.

"In all honesty, I wasn't really very tired. If you want to talk for a while I'd be glad to," replied Henry.

"Don't be silly, after working all day you must be shattered," scolded Randall, reaching up to grab Henry's arm and pulling him down with him, "Get some rest."

"But what about spending time together?" Henry enquired.

"Isn't that what we're doing now? It doesn't matter if we're awake or not, as long as we're here, we're spending time together," Randall told him, before failing to hide a yawn that gave away the fact that he was probably more ready for bed than he was letting on. Regardless, Randall put his arms around Henry and snuggled up to him. Something that may have looked odd to the casual observer, but to the two of them was just normal by this point.

"All right then, I hope you sleep well, Master Randall," whispered Henry, watching as the other's eyes heavily sagged to a close.

"Uh-huh, you too, Henry..." mumbled Randall, already well on his way to sleep.

After watching him for a moment, Henry retrieved the glasses that lay askew on Randall's face and leaned over to place them on the bedside table, next to the jug of flowers. He smiled, wishing that he found falling asleep half as easy to manage as Randall did.

But the again, if he did, he wouldn't have had these private little moments to enjoy.

Settling back down, Henry reached forward to give Randall a bold kiss on the forehead, knowing that he would not be caught. Randall's forehead was comfortingly warm, despite the frosty chill of the weather outside. Curling back into the embrace, Henry finally felt at ease enough to drift off into a slumber.

As his breathing settled to the pace of light sleep, Randall opened his eyes a little, smiled and then never mentioned it again.


	38. Randall/Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better way to ruin years of planning for a perfect life than by accidentally spilling your feelings out to the person you're not supposed to be in love with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL5.

It had been probably a few weeks later than most ordinary celebratory outings would occur before the two of them finally went out for a drink, but that was mostly because there had been so many other things to see to. If it had been down to Randall, today would have happened much sooner, but he knew that there was much paperwork that needed to be done in order for both the Masked Gentleman business to be closed entirely and for Henry's estate to be transferred to him.

Randall half believed that Henry would have kept on working, even tonight, if he hadn't grabbed his arm and insisted they were going out right now.

In turn, Henry looked a bit unsettled. He was at peace when working and in all honesty didn't really go out to drink socially very often. A glass of wine on a special occasion was about as far as he usually went and, if he was honest, he couldn't even think if he'd ever been to any of the pubs in Monte d'Or for more than just business.

If it had been anyone other than Randall who had asked, he probably would have refused. But one thing that weighed heavy on his mind was that he needed to get to know Randall again. Which was something that he couldn't do by shutting himself away in an office.

The past few weeks had demonstrated that Randall was not the same person he had been all those years ago and this was something Henry should have expected. For all his friend had found the memories he'd lost when he fell into the ravine, there was also another person born of eighteen years spent living without those memories in Craggy Dale. That person was far from unpleasant and Henry was glad to get a chance to better acquaint himself with him.

This new Randall didn't seem too much of a stranger to social drinking, for example, which was something the Randall he once knew didn't really bother with. But that may well have been because the Randall he knew had been too young to drink at the time he'd disappeared.

"Sometimes Tannenbaum would take me out for a pint after work," Randall confirmed, when conversation turned to this, "It's not really something we'd do all the time, but if things were going particularly well on the farm, it was nice to celebrate."

"I certainly agree that a job well done is something worth being rewarded for," Henry replied.

Randall smirked; "I bet you never do."

"Oh. Well... um, there's always so much work to do that I don't have much time for anything else," mumbled Henry.

"You can't just keep working without a break, Henry. You're not a machine," argued Randall, "If you keep that attitude up I'll just have to drag you away from that office more often."

"But Master Randall-"

"No buts! I think another couple of drinks are in order."

"I-if you insist."

Henry watched as Randall called over to the bar for two more drinks. He'd already felt like he'd had two too many, but he didn't want to look silly in front of Randall and he felt he was handling them well.

Once the new order arrived, Randall downed his almost straight away. The way he kept his composure even after that certainly impressed Henry.

"You must have almost everything sorted out by now," said Randall, as Henry sipped at his own drink.

Pausing for thought, Henry replied, "It's almost all been transferred to you as best I can manage. You are legally the owner of everything. But there are still so many jobs to do that I don't want to trouble you with while you're getting used to life here. It's just easier if I carry on doing the work for the moment."

"And then when I'm settled we can do it together?" Randall checked.

There was a pause as Henry tried to process what he'd said. Perhaps the alcohol was having more of an effect on him than he'd realised.

"Yes, then we can work together," he answered.

"Good, because I hate to think of you stuffed away having to do things by yourself when there's someone there to help you," Randall replied.

A private thought went through Henry's mind and, mostly without meaning to, he murmured, "Why not? I'm used to doing it by myself."

"Hmm? I'm just saying that it's not fair that you should have to," Randall debated.

"No one else would help me with that," Henry chuckled, running a finger around the rim of his glass.

"Are we still talking about the same thing?" check Randall.

"I don't think we are, Master Randall," Henry answered, "But it's okay, you can keep... keep doing whatever you want and I'll just get on with it my myself."

Making to get up, Randall sighed; "I think three drinks might be your limit."

"Nonsense. That's not a limit at all, Master Randall," argued Henry, smiling weakly.

"It's not a competition. I wouldn't want to make you feel ill or anything, so let's just go home," Randall insisted, walking over to help him off his seat.

"You already make me feel ill," Henry confessed, looking up at him with a glazed expression that was almost unsettling, "Every day you make me feel ill. You have since I was able to realise that I can't even think about you without it hurting.

"Do you know how hard it was to live every day trying to convince the world that you were alive? Hershel and Dalston never believed me. I was so, so glad when Angela decided to wait for you with me... But it never stopped the ache I had inside, knowing that the two of us would go on living without you. Th-that maybe it would have been fairer to have not talked her into waiting with me, because at least then she might have had a chance to move on and make a better life for herself, instead of suffering the same fate I did. She loved you just the way I did though. We could recognise it in each other. And I knew that she wanted to be with you, if only she believed that you were alive."

He stopped for a moment, his expression turning almost harsh. Then, without giving Randall a chance to respond to his unexpected outburst, he sharply pressed on.

"Then you came back. You're here now and I don't know what to do with myself, because I spent all this time preparing for your return, without taking a moment to think how I'd handle it when you were finally with us again. And it's almost fitting that it still hurts. You're home now, so you and Angela can finally be together and I'm so very happy for the both of you, really I am, but it doesn't stop me from feeling the pain of knowing that I can never be honest with you about my own feelings. Because that would be selfish. So yes, Master Randall, you're about eighteen years too late to avoid making me feel ill."

"Henry... Let's, well, let's get you out of here, first of all," Randall mumbled, slipping an arm around him and pulling him up off the chair. That speech had attracted a lot of attention and Randall was sure that the judging faces of those looking at them were the last thing that such a respected figure in Monte d'Or needed right now.

Gripping onto his back for support, Henry nodded, but said nothing. Randall hastily left some money on the table and didn't even bother telling them to keep the change, before speedily helping Henry to the door. They went a little way down the street before Randall deemed they were in a quiet enough place to stop. No one seemed to be hanging around outside at the moment, which was definitely for the best.

Henry still hadn't said a word since his outburst, so Randall offered, "We can get a taxi if you don't think you can walk the rest of the way."

Staring off into the distance, Henry whimpered, "I told you everything... didn't I?"

"Um, unless there's anything else, I kind of think you did," Randall confirmed.

"That's wonderful, isn't it? After years of keeping it all to myself, I have to go ruin it over... a d-drunken night out," Henry muttered, looking as if he was close to tears. This evening had played no part in his plan of how life was supposed to unfold. It was meant to have been Randall and Angela, living happily together, while Henry cared for them and never said a word about how he felt.

"It's not healthy to keep feelings like that bottled up for so long," scolded Randall, "I'm glad that you told me."

"Maybe you are now, but you won't be tomorrow," Henry retorted, "Now you have to live the rest of your life knowing that I'll be in the background, having this weird feeling of longing for you..."

There were definitely tears now.

"And I'd rather know about that so that I can deal with it in my own way," Randall insisted, "Look Henry, I know that you mean well and that all you want is for mine and Angela's happiness, but don't you think planning our lives for us is unfair? By all means, have your visions of how you want it to go, but don't pursue a route that'll make you miserable."

"There are no other routes." A crack came in Henry's voice, as he laughed through the tears. "And I told you – I'm happy just to see the two of you happy."

"But you're hurting!" Randall insisted, "You said so yourself. It's not right for you to spend every day watching what you want but can't have."

"The world isn't that fair, Master Randall," Henry reasoned, "It's not fair to the boy who lost all of his memories and had to make a new life for himself, it's not fair to the girl who had to fight off the feelings of so many others, just so that she could wait for the one she truly loved, and it's certainly not fair to the boy who loved them both and devoted his life to building a kingdom for their happiness. If just two of those people can come to have good lives, then that's probably fairer than what most people have a chance at having."

"Stop talking like that!" snapped Randall.

The tone of his voice was enough to make Henry, a man who'd spent the early half of his life taking orders from the Ascot family, fall into a silence. Save for the quiet sobs that he couldn't stop if he wanted to. Randall had never spoken to him like that in all the time they'd known each other.

Reaching forward, Randall wiped the tears from Henry's face with his thumb. The touch stung a little, as his face was now red from crying, and the thought of having Randall touch him after all of the shameful things he'd said were enough to make him shudder. But he did not move and the two of them stayed like that for several minutes, until all the tears were gone and the sobs produced no more.

They had been staring at each other the whole time and Henry had to admit that he didn't know what was running through Randall's mind. He never knew that. It was part of the reason why he'd come to be as obsessed with him as he was – Randall was the one wildcard in Henry's otherwise perfectly planned life. Ironic, that all of his planning was focused around that one wildcard. Nevertheless, he knew when he was being judged and he had held the gaze, so that Randall could see that none of this was a joke or a passing fancy. This was his life and perhaps Randall did need to know that after all.

The stare was broken after after the crying stopped, as Randall reached forward to pull Henry into a tight hug.

His head pressed into Henry's ear and he mumbled, "We'll sort this out. All three of us. No more secrets and lies, because I think we've all had enough of those. Tomorrow morning, you tell Angela what you've told me and we'll deal with it, I promise. We don't want you to be sidelined. And I can't really speak for Angela, but I'm certain that she cares about you as much as I do. You've done so much for us that it would be wrong for us to let you go on that way."

"I don't want to make things awkward for either of you," Henry pressed.

"You said so yourself that life isn't fair. Sometimes someone might fall in love with someone who's already with someone else. That's just the way things happen. However, that doesn't mean we can't deal with it," Randall assured, "So will you talk with Angela and me tomorrow?"

A nod; "I will, but I'm... scared."

"Good, that means you've not planned for this. Because if planning results in hiding your feelings, then I don't want you to be doing that," Randall reasoned, "And don't think that I won't remember everything you've said, so I'll know if you're holding back."

"I'm... not sure that I'll remember all of what I've said tomorrow," admitted Henry, "My head's already starting to sting."

"Don't worry, I'll keep you on the right track," Randall promised, pulling away from the hug, "Now let's get back before the sun beats us to it."

"We were... out that late?" Henry checked.

Randall laughed, offering a hand out to him, but not answering his question.

It was rare that Randall would give someone the chance to decline. Hugging, handshakes, any kind of physical contact really, were often just something that he'd dive into, because he was so impulsive. For him to not just take Henry's hand, showed that he was starting to consider the other's feelings enough to give him the chance to back off.

However, there was no scenario where Henry didn't see himself taking that hand. He grasped onto it and the two began the walk back home in silence.

The air might not have been entirely content between them, but Henry felt that a weight had been lifted from his shoulders for having been honest with Randall. He did not know how tomorrow would go, what Angela would say, or how they'd all carry on from then on. He wasn't even sure what he would say to her. This was not something that he could plan for. And, without argument, that was probably the best way to approach it.

And thus began the first day since Randall's disappearance eighteen years ago, where Henry truly wanted not to plan how their three lives would go.


	39. Henry/Angela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her first day as a married woman wasn't at all what Angela had expected it to be, nor was she with the man she'd longed to marry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set the day after Henry & Angela get married.

She heard the door click shut behind them as Henry entered the house.

This was it. Their first night as a married couple in their new house. _House._ Definitely not a home yet. It took years of familiarity to create a home, Angela felt, and those were feelings she could not bring herself to have about this house so quickly. Perhaps she never would.

No, she couldn't think like that. Thinking like that was as bad as saying she'd accepted Randall would never come back. Everything she'd done lately had hinged on the belief that he would. She wanted to believe that he'd return as strongly as Henry did.

Henry was the one who had arranged this entire marriage and provided a house for them both to live in. It wasn't a real marriage, but no one was to know that. The alternate had been to go through with a wedding arranged for her by her parents, to a man she didn't love. This way, Henry's way, she was still to be married to a man she didn't love, but it was a simple place-holder for when the person she did love came back. Henry would step a side once Randall returned, allowing for Angela to be with him once more, regardless of what anyone else thought.

She hoped that would happen soon.

In the meantime, Angela was thankful to Henry for getting her out of that situation. And also for providing a place for her to live, away from her parents. She didn't think that she could stay living with them after all this. Besides, it was expected for husband and wife to live together, was it not?

All the same, tonight was her first night away from the home she'd grown up in and that prospect was daunting.

Looking around, Angela had to admit that the house was beautiful. Clearly, a lot of care had gone into making it look as presentable as possible. Which didn't surprise her, given the way Henry was. He'd grown up in the service of others and had only recently stumbled upon a large amount of wealth himself. Because his whole life had been about tending to the needs of other people, he couldn't adjust to doing anything but that. Angela imagined that he would probably maintain the entire house on his own and this was fine by her – the less other people within their employ, the less likely it was that anyone else would discover the truth about their situation. Those involved in the search didn't count, as they wouldn't be close to the house very often. Or even at all, if it could be avoided.

Henry seemed to have gone out of his way to make the house look exactly how he probably felt that she wanted it to look and she appreciated the effort. They both silently knew that he wasn't going to be around very much, at least not while there was a single stone in the ruins of Akbadain that remained unturned in the search for Randall. Henry was going to be out searching and organising others to search, while Angela would stay here and look for ways to keep herself occupied.

It was almost a cruel fate, but Angela knew that it was only going to last until they found Randall and the three of them could move on with their lives together.

"Are you cold, Miss Angela? I could fetch you a warm drink if you like," Henry offered. The sudden sound of his voice made her jump and, as if to justify speaking up, he added, "The desert gets very cold at night."

"Please Henry, just call me 'Angela' now," she insisted, breathing out in relief that it was just him speaking up and wondering what she had been expecting instead, "I know that there'll be a lot of changes for both of us, but you can't keep calling me Miss Angela now that we're married."

Least of all because, by all intents and purposes, she was now technically Mrs. Angela Ledore.

"Very well M- ...Angela," he resigned and she could tell he felt uncomfortable.

"I'll be fine for the moment, as well. But thank you for the offer," she went on, answering his earlier question.

Angela wasn't a stranger to the desert and had been here many times during the search for Randall. True, she had never stayed the night before, but she'd have to get used to the temperature if she was going to live here indefinitely until the search provided fruitful results. The chill did bother her a bit. She's expected it and felt she had prepared for it, yet even so, it seemed to creep under her skin. It was all she could do to stop herself from shivering.

Just as she started to feel herself becoming lost in her thoughts once more, Henry's voice cut through; "Would you like me to give you some time to get settled?" he asked.

She focused on Henry. In his eyes, she could tell that he felt just as uncomfortable as she did. Standing around was not something that Henry could handle very well and she knew that he wanted her to dismiss him, so that he could busy himself with other tasks.

He was not her servant, however. Perhaps he was also not truly her husband, but she was not going to treat him as if he was in her employ, either.

"No, I'd like you to stay, if that's all right," she answered.

"If that is what you wish," he replied.

There was no point in arguing that what she wished was for him to do what he wanted, because it wasn't fair to put that on him, after he'd spent a lifetime following the orders of others. She knew that staying here wasn't what he wanted to do. What he wanted to do was go back to searching for Randall. But she needed company right now, enough to warrant contradicting her desires for him not to feel like a servant.

Angela walked over to the sofa and sat down, looking up at him pointedly. In response, Henry came over and sat on one of the chairs, hands folded on his lap. This choice of seating said everything. He did not feel comfortable sitting with her on a sofa, because it felt like an invasion upon her relationship with Randall. He still felt like a servant to her, not a husband. As he watched, she knew that he was silently hoping any new words that came out of her mouth would be instructions, so that he could bring her something she wanted or else get back to his other duties.

Instead, she made small-talk.

"I was glad that Dalston came to the wedding," she began.

After enough of a pause that it was clear she wasn't going to add anything else, Henry replied, "Yes, we really don't want any ill-will towards our position."

She chuckled a little, "I think it's a bit late for that. You're never going to be Dalston's favourite person now. But he's a good soul and I know that deep down he wouldn't have been happy knowing that I would have gone into a forced marriage with him while I still loved Randall."

"And yet he was still prepared to go through with it," Henry reminded, in what was the closest he'd come to putting forward his own opinion on the situation since he'd suggested the fake marriage in the first place.

"I think that he hadn't thought ahead. If he'd had more time, he probably would have come to the right decision, it's just that we didn't have a lot of time to spare," reasoned Angela.

"Maybe so," he replied and it was clear he wasn't as certain about that as she was.

"This way he's free to pursue his career in the hotel business and we're free to... to keep looking for Randall. It works out better for everyone," she went on, to add some light to the situation.

"Yes, I do think that this was best for everyone," agreed Henry.

"All the same, I very much doubt this will be the last we see of him," she said, smiling fondly, "I'd be surprised if he hasn't opened a hotel here by the end of the decade."

"If there's the business to warrant it," Henry replied, "Though I've been surprised at the amount of interest we've had in the search."

"There's not enough work in this area for people to pass up the opportunity to make money," Angela put forward.

"That's a very good point. Fortunately for us, we seem to be making more money than we lose, so there'll be no worries of having to end our search any time soon," Henry confirmed.

"Even if... well, it goes on for years?"

"The search will continue until we find Master Randall."

"Of course, I'd never think otherwise. And I'm sure that we will find him before long, with so many dedicated people helping to look."

Although Angela suspected that the amount of time that elapsed between Randall's disappearance and their finding him wasn't at all Henry's concern. His concern was simply finding Randall, no matter what happened in-between. There was no doubt that he'd keep looking until he either did find Randall or he died. Nothing else would stop him.

Henry didn't reply to her statement. Making any comment on the amount of time that Randall had already been gone for would mean being unable to avoid the possibility that he may well be dead. And there was no way Henry would allow himself to accept that.

So instead, the two of them fell into silence, staring off at different points in the room. They both avoided making eye-contact for some time.

Unsurprisingly, it was Angela who eventually spoke up; "You can go back to the search if you want." Henry's head jerked in her direction and she continued, "I know that there's a lot to do and you don't have time to waste sitting around here."

He rose from his seat, hesitating for a moment, before walking over to the sofa. Then he placed a hand on top of Angela's. Their two wedding rings clinked against each other, like a couple of strangers bumping into one another in a crowded place.

"Being with you is never a waste of time," he whispered, "I am very glad that you decided to be here with me and believe we'll find Master Randall. You didn't have to. And I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't, but I'm so glad-"

Angela silenced him by standing up suddenly and pulling him into a tight hug. She could tell that he felt tense, but right now, she didn't care.

"What sort of friend would I be if I didn't?" she mumbled into his shoulder, "You came to me when I was at my lowest point and made me believe what the rest of the world convinced me was impossible. We will find him. Because of you..."

"Th-thank you Miss- ...thank you, Angela," Henry murmured, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

Pulling away to look at him, Angela said, "I know that this is going to take a lot of getting used to for both of us. But we can do it. We're both friends who care about each other and believe in the same thing."

"I'm glad you have that much confidence," Henry replied, with an awkward little half-laugh.

"Don't pretend that you don't," she scolded, warmly.

"I have faith in those that I care about. And over the years, Master Randall and yourself are the only people who have extended me the kindness that is worth caring for," admitted Henry.

"That's very sweet," Angela concluded, and then she pushed lightly against his chest, "Now go and get back to looking for Randall. I know that you'll find him."

"I won't let you down," he promised, bowing and turning to leave. At the door, he looked back and said, "Though I'll try to be back before you retire for the night. It's just a few things that need sorting out amongst my notes on the caverns, so that the teams aren't treading on each other's toes."

"You're a man of your word, so I know you'll be back," said Angela, "Just take care."

"You too. And if you need anything, just call," Henry instructed. After that, he left.

She waited until the door had clicked shut behind him before sinking back down into the sofa and releasing a breath. It may well be a very long time before this house felt like a home, she knew, but somehow it felt warmer now. They were in this together, her and Henry. Perhaps the line between husband and wife was not clear, but their friendship definitely was as clear and unwavering as it ever could be. As long as they held onto that, they'd be fine.

And thus, the newly wed Angela Ledore began her wait for the man she loved to return to her.


	40. Randall/Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry commits the worst crime imaginable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL5, with the prompt "Oh fuck, oh FUCK".

This was actually the single worst thing that had ever happened in Henry Ledore's life.

As a child, he had been born into poverty. As a teenager, he'd had to watch his master leave, not knowing on that day that he'd never see him again for another eighteen years. As a determined young men, he had braved through the dangers of the Akbadain ruins alone, trying to find any traces that were left of Randall. As a broken-hearted man, he'd returned empty-handed and had saved his childhood crush from an arranged marriage by offering himself to marry her, so they could both wait for Randall to return, forever, if they had to. And as a slightly jaded being, he had waited those eighteen years until Randall had come back, tried to destroy him over a misunderstanding, eventually realised the truth and apologised for the confusion.

All of those events might have been bad enough, but they were nothing compared to the absolute tragedy that he faced in this very moment.

He stood, hot iron in his hand, face a picture of utter shame.

"Oh fuck... Oh FUCK!"

"Henry, I didn't think I'd ever hear you utter words like that," Randall commented, looking in from the hallway to make sure everything was all right.

The sight of Randall only intensified how Henry was feeling. He wanted to hide his mistakes, but he knew they couldn't repair there broken bonds if they did not have honesty.

So instead, he held up the purple vest that he'd been ironing. A deep black burn defiantly glaring out from the middle.

"I'm sorry, Master Randall! My focus lapsed for only a moment and... and the next thing I knew I had ruined your vest!"

Part of Randall wanted to laugh, but Henry looked so genuinely distressed by what had happened, that instead he walked over and hugged him tightly. Henry continued to clutch at the vest weakly to his chest as he did, but few things could get I the way of one of Randall's hugs once he decided you were getting one.

"Don't worry about that Henry, I've got lots of other vests," soothed Randall.

Henry sighed, "That's not the point... I've let you down, Master Randall."

Randall pulled away, smiling fondly at his beloved, tragic, silly Henry.

"And if that's the only time in our entire lives that you've let me down, then you've got a pretty good track record, wouldn't you say?" he reasoned, "Especially in light of... well, all the times I've let you down myself."

"Master Randall, don't say such things," murmured Henry, "I don't think ill of you for everything that happened."

"And I don't think ill of you for burning my vest. So are we even?" Randall checked.

"I think so?" replied Henry, not completely sure that burning a vest and attempted sabotage of an entire city were quite on the same page, now that he thought about it.

"Good! Well, let's go out and find a replacement vest!"

With that, Randall darted out the door. He was a peculiar fellow, but whatever way he had with words definitely worked for Henry. Resigning the ruined vest to the bin, Henry calmly followed him out.


	41. Crow/Badger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young boy weighs up whether he thinks he can trust the one who pulls the strings at the market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set pre-PL4.

Can I trust you?

The young girl who owns the market stall trusts you. She trusts that if you take an apple from the stall in the morning, but you can't pay for it just then, that you will pay her for that apple later in the day. But can I trust you?

Her friend, that tall boy with the afro, he trusts you as well. He trusts that the two of you can snigger with each other and that any jokes you might make, as harsh as they may be, will go no further than between the two of you. But can I trust you?

That kid who practically lives at the sweet stand, his eyes glowing with affection for the toffees and the lollipops, he without a doubt trusts you. He trusts that you will always share any sweets you buy with him, that you won't horde or hide them. But can I trust you?

There's a boy with wild hair who hides amongst the junk and never has a nice word to say about anyone who's got money, even he trusts you. He trusts that you can tell a diamond from a chunk of glass, though what you both intend to do with what you find I don't yet know. But can I trust you?

If it was strange enough that boy would trust you, there's another one who's even blunter in his words and, if I'm honest I think his face reminds me a little of a fish, but he trusts you and all. Even if he thinks you're a pain, he trusts you enough to listen to anything you say. But can I trust you?

There's a girl down the street, I think she likes you, and she definitely trusts you. It goes without saying from the way her eyes light up when you walk past her that she does, even if her brother teases her for it. But can I trust you?

And her brother, despite all that teasing, he also puts his trust in you. Maybe he's young and naïve, maybe even you think that he is, but that doesn't take away from that fact that he trusts you. But can I trust you?

It seems that the trust you gather extends to anyone who set foot in this market, perhaps even to every single person you've ever spoken to. But that doesn't matter even one bit, because I don't know if I can trust you.

Then you smile and say, "Ya name is Badger now, all right?"

And just like that, I trust you.

Badger trusts you forever, but the young boy he used to be, never mind what his name was, isn't so sure if he trusts you just yet.


	42. Crow/Badger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing would ever be all right again. At least not as far as Badger was concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few years post-PL4, with the prompt "Don't fucking touch me".

Crow pelted across the grass, trying desperately to keep Badger in his line of vision. It wasn't easy, Badger was by far the fastest of all of the Black Ravens and if he wanted to lose you, then usually you'd have no chance of keeping up.

But Crow was determined and he was lucky that Badger made the mistake of thinking that his own speed outweighed Crow's determination enough that eventually he slowed down to take a break. They were far away from Misthallery now, misty fields having replaced the jagged cliffs, and they were both tired. Crow's heart was pounding so much that he barely even noticed how much his legs were aching.

He got closer to Badger and he knew the other boy was aware he was there, but thankfully he didn't take off again.

"Badge'..."

Crow put what he assumed was a comforting hand on Badger's shoulder, but Badger jerked his shoulder away.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" Badger yelled, staring hard at the ground to avoid looking at Crow.

Unfortunately for him, Crow could get just as defensive as Badger at times; "Ya say that like this was all my fault!"

"It might as well 'ave been!" shot Badger, glaring up at him now, "If ya 'aven't been so charmin' an' nice an' everythin' I've ever bloody wanted, then maybe I wouldn't 'ave fallen in love with ya an'... an' dad wouldn't be getting' carted off right now..."

"Ya dad ain't bein' taken away 'cause ya love me. 'E's bein' taken away because 'e's an abusive twat," Crow insisted, "This was always gonna 'appen, Badge'. If not over this, then over somethin' else..."

A noisy hiccup. Badger had started crying. The tears were just becoming visible from behind his mop of hair and his face had turned a painful shade of red.

"Ya... ya doun't know that. Ya can't know that. We might've been all right fer a few more years..." he mumbled.

"Not sure ya woulda been all right stayin' there fer that long though, even if nothin' else 'appened," reasoned Crow.

He made to put his hand on Badger's shoulder again, but there was no need. In a rare display of confidence, Badger grabbed onto Crow and held him tightly, sobbing loudly against the top of his hat.

"But what do I even do now...?" he whimpered, after a few moments of letting the tears run their course, "Maybe 'e were the worst person in the world, but 'e were me dad an' I doun't 'ave anywhere to go without 'im. What if they take me away an' all?"

"They won't," Crow promised, "I'm not gonna let that ever 'appen. Not now everyone knows about us bein' together anyway. Ya can stay with me an' mum. If that doesn't work out, we can stop out down the auction room until we work somethin' out. But we will work somethin' out."

Badger nodded into Crow's hat. He wasn't going to stop crying any time soon, couldn't if he wanted to, but he felt better for having heard that. Crow would help. Crow always knew what to do. And maybe Crow would say that he didn't, but in that very moment the idea that his boyfriend could look after him in spite of everything that had happened today was exactly the comforting thought he needed.


	43. Bill/Jakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The disaster that struck his fellow scientists causes Bill Hawks to worry about his own future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after the flashbacks in PL3, with the prompt, "What happened doesn't change anything".

Jakes watched quietly as his friend paced about, mumbling irritably to himself. Bill could get stressed easily and everything that had happened in the last few weeks would leave anyone wanting to cry in frustration.

"That ignorant fool Dimitri!" Bill shot, throwing his arms up in the air, "He acts like he's all high and mighty. As if what happened to Claire is entirely on my head and she didn't step into that time machine of her own free will!"

Jakes shrugged his shoulders. Any time Bill got this angry, it had very little effect on him. Which probably helped attribute to why they'd always been as close as they are.

"You're only now realising that Dimitri likes to play martyr?" he grumbled.

"I suppose you're right," sighed Bill, drawing to a halt in his pacing, "And I'm not angry that he's decided to move his research else where, it's just..." He trailed off, not knowing how to finish that sentence.

"Why are you angry then?" Jakes pressed.

Ignoring that question, Bill changed the subject; "I don't think it would be wise for me to continue in this line of work. The questions have been a nightmare, Levin, and I can't even look at the faces of my fellow scientists. It's a hard decision for me to make, science has always been my passion as far back as I can remember, but... I've been offered a position elsewhere."

Jakes raised an eyebrow. That was the last thing he'd expected Bill to say.

"What kind of position?" Jakes asked.

"It's... it's in parliament, would you believe?" Bill chuckled, not even really believing it himself, "Apparently, all of my years of being vocal about politics haven't gone unnoticed. But it's just... I feel like I'm running away."

Pulling himself up off his chair, Jakes walked over and put a hand on Bill's shoulder. He smiled in the most encouraging way he could manage.

"You're skilled. You'll go far," he insisted.

"But what will everyone say? What will Caroline say? What will you say about... about all this?" whimpered Bill. He very rarely got upset about anything, but the grip on his shoulder seemed to ground him enough that the full weight of everything started to catch up with him.

"I say that what happened doesn't change anything, all right? You're still the same Bill Hawks that you've always been to me," insisted Jakes.

"That's... well, just what I needed to hear. Thank you, my dear old friend," replied Bill, letting out a breath that he didn't even know he'd been holding.

Yes, he was the same Bill, with the same drive and determination that he'd always had. He would go far and this horrible disaster would, in time, become just an unpleasant memory that he would find the will to move on from.


	44. Descole/Anton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Descole's search for eternal life had led him to investigate an unlikely lead in a town called Folsense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in an AU version of PL2, based on the old fan theory that Descole was looking for eternal life and using the prompt, "Look at me – just breathe, okay?"

Folsense had always been a word that was followed by a question mark on Descole's internal map of his plans. He'd never been quite sure if he was actually intending to look into it or not.

But after exhausting his leads at the Golden Garden and Ambrosia, both locations having reaped few worthwhile results given the efforts that he'd put into them, his plans come to something of a lull. There would always be more chances for him, but perhaps while all was quiet, it wouldn't hurt to look into Folsense, if only to be able to cross it off as another false lead.

So he'd dedicated time to researching it, as he was nothing if not thorough. Much of the documentation had proven fruitless, so he eventually ended up finding leads through the young town of Dropstone and in time (more time than he'd intended to spend on this endeavour) he did come to arrive in Folsense itself.

If nothing else came from this, he now knew for certain that Folsense was real. Though whether it proved useful to him or not was another matter entirely.

Those who lived there had all spoken of a vampire who resided in a castle just outside of the town. This seemed to be the only tale related to eternal life that Descole could find from skimming the surface of Folsense, so he of course looked into it.

He travelled to the castle alone at night, but while his visit there may have been unexpected, it was certainly not an unwelcome one.

The Duke of Folsense, Anton Herzen, and his butler, Nigel, both seemed to be more awake than anyone had any business being at this late hour. And even if these vampire stories turned out to be nothing more than paranoid rumours from the townsfolk, Descole could see how they might have started, judging from the manner and dress-sense of these two individuals.

Anton's appearance was probably the first thing that Descole noticed – he was young and beautiful, as well as being eager for Descole to think of him as a gracious host. This was easy to work with. Because, while Descole's mind was usually so driven and focused, he was also nothing if not a shameless flirt. It came so naturally to him and this young man hardly presented him a challenge in that regard.

Since he was patient when he needed to be, Descole took the time to get to know Anton, to learn about him. It might prove useful to his research, though that was mostly an excuse by this point. He did learn that Anton was pining over the loss of a woman called Sophia, who he had dearly loved. After finding that out, it had simply been a matter of tempting Anton in short intervals – overwhelming him with flattery one evening and then avoiding him for enough time that Anton came to crave more. They had what Anton would think of as chance meetings just outside of the castle grounds on many occasions, but he didn't know that each one had been carefully planned out on Descole's part. Chance had nothing to do with it.

The longer these went on, the more Descole noticed that Anton was actually trying to seek him out. For Anton, it was no more just the pleasant walk in the evening shade that may be interrupted by that charming stranger, but a desperate need to find him and listen to everything he had to say. What had started out as an occasional visit, swiftly became Descole having to go there every night. This had been exactly what he'd intended.

By this point, he figured it wouldn't be too bold to make a more forward gesture. Anton was clearly besotted with him as it was. So one evening, while they sat together under the moonlight, Descole allowed his tone to grow hushed and intimate, before eventually leaning in to kiss Anton.

Of course, the young Duke was flustered by this and of course he fled. Descole expected nothing less. Undoubtedly, Anton would return to the castle feeling as if he'd betrayed Sophia by allowing another to kiss him.

After that, Descole left it a whole week before visiting Anton again. During which time, he looked into the matter of Sophia, which had been nagging him in the back of his mind. He was sure that he'd come across that name before while searching the records for Dropstone, but the dates just didn't match up. If she was indeed the same Sophia who had founded Dropstone forty-eight years ago, well then, Anton was truly a lot older than he appeared to be. Perhaps there was a source of eternal life here after all...

He sent a message to Raymond to look into Sophia further. Because he felt inclined not to venture too far away from Folsense and communication outside of the town had proven to be unreliable, he opted to send the message by bird. As the creature ascended into the sky, he watched it's flight patterns, which seemed to become somewhat disoriented as it rose further away from Folsense. This was worrying, since the bird had seemed healthy enough when he'd picked it out. Descole could only hope that the message reached Raymond.

When the week had gone by with no reply from him, Descole decided to visit Herzen Castle once more. While usually he would linger some distance away from the castle, this time he came right to the door, knocking confidently and requesting to see Anton once Nigel answered. This change in tactic would show Anton that the conversation they were about to have would be unlike any previous.

The wait had been a good idea. When Anton arrived, his eyes were so wide and he so desperately needed to talk to Descole. It seemed that during the absence, Anton had managed on his own to go through all of the confusion about what had happened, the fear of betraying Sophia, the frustration at himself for Descole being the only thing he could now think about and had reached the conclusion that, while he might not know what would happen next, Descole definitely did.

He was right in that assumption.

Anton led them through to a room in the castle that Descole had not seen before and then asked Nigel that they not be disturbed. The butler simply bowed, murmured that he would make sure of this and then left. Descole wasn't sure how much of a distance Nigel would truly keep from the room, but he didn't have time to dwell on this, as Anton burst into feverish ranting almost as soon as the door was closed.

Descole let him talk himself out, not saying a word until Anton fell into silence. When that happened, he moved a gentle hand up to stroke Anton's face, whispering that these panicked red cheeks did not suit him. This was a lie. The way the red hue sat upon Anton's pale complexion was intoxicating to look at and Descole assured himself that he would see more of this face before his time with Anton was through.

There were tears, which worked well for the situation, as they gave Descole a reason to pull Anton close and hold him in an embrace. As he whispered sweet comforts into Anton's ear, he felt the other man's weight slump against him in full acceptance of what was happening. His soft, blond hair felt nice against the side of Descole's face. So Descole allowed them to sit there a bit longer than he had planned would be sensible, because he was enjoying this too much.

By the end of the evening, Descole had secured a second meeting with Anton and, although these words had not been spoken, a relationship as well. This was the first time they'd arranged to meet together as opposed to just crossing paths and clearly being able to prepare helped Anton feel more as if he was in control. He was dressed even more finely than usual next time and had prepared a quiet evening dinner for the two of them. This trend continued into several more meetings and it amused Descole a little to see Anton act as if he was the one pulling the strings of their relationship when he couldn't have been further from the truth.

And while he allowed Anton to dictate the setting and the events, when it came to the romantic gestures, Descole would always make sure that he was the one planting small kisses onto Anton's lips, holding his hand as they walked privately through the forest, murmuring increasingly filthy nothings to him at every chance he got.

Admittedly, he got so caught up in their little game that he began to let his focus slip.

Then one evening, as the two of them walked together, a sudden sound came across the sky. It was a dangerous rumble that lasted only briefly and seemed to come from a part of Folsense that Descole had not yet been to.

He asked Anton about it and the Duke had simply said it must be workers down at the mine his family owned. Descole knew this was something he'd have to look into later. But through his own actions, he'd made it hard for himself to be able to get away from Anton for long stretches of time. It reached the point where he'd had to convince Anton to take him to the mine.

Clearly Anton was bored and frustrated at the idea of having to go somewhere that, to him, was nothing more than a workplace for people who his family were gracious enough to provide jobs for, but Descole stemmed this by promising him that it would be worth the while. That perhaps they would find a place there just out of sight and spend a moment of passion together under the risk of being caught by the workers. This idea seemed to do the trick of thrilling Anton and renewing his interest.

But it turned out there was not a single worker in the mine. Instead, the only soul there was the last person that Descole had intended to see.

Raymond.

The elderly man rushed over to Descole, claiming that the source of the town's problem was in the mine and that they should leave this place at once.

Anton was not at all happy about this stranger taking Descole away, but Raymond insisted that they both needed to go, not just Descole. That he'd apparently promised Nigel he would come look for them both.

"What about the rest of the townsfolk?" Descole asked. It seemed like the first clear question that had come out of his mouth in weeks.

"There are nae others," Raymond insisted.

"Don't be ridiculous, I've seen people each time I've gone into Folsense itself," snapped Descole.

"None o' them are real," assured Raymond, "I were confused meself when I went to the castle an' saw a much younger Nigel there. The real Nigel's been livin' in Dropstone fer years."

"Then what is all of this?" Descole pressed, motioning around to what was visible of the town from over the tree-tops.

"An illusion created by the hallucinogenic gas that comes from the mines. Sound crazy, I knae, but ya need to trust me on this," Raymond replied.

Descole did trust Raymond. There was no doubt about that. The doubt came from Anton, who clearly had no idea what Raymond was talking about.

"What does he mean by the real Nigel being somewhere else?" Anton demanded, "I know where Nigel is, I saw him before we left the castle."

Leaning forward, Descole took Anton's hand and said, "Please, I know this might be hard for you to believe, but Raymond is my trusted ally. If he says that it's dangerous for us to be here, then we need to go with him."

Anton was hesitant, which was only natural considering how long it must have been since he'd last left Folsense. Even Descole was no longer sure, if the information Raymond had provided turned out to be correct. But Anton did trust Descole and if Descole wanted him to extend that trust to Raymond, then he would.

So he nodded silently.

Raymond led the two of them away from the mines, away from the castle and away from Folsense. As they walked, Anton's breathing became increasingly laboured and his pace slowed considerably. It wasn't long until he was lagging behind and Descole had to go back for him.

When he reached him, Anton was bent over and staring at his hands in horror. It took a moment for Descole to realise exactly why that was, but then Anton raised his head to look at him and he saw for himself. Though his eyes were still as wide and scared as they had been before, his face was now wrinkled and his silky hair a raggedy white.

His words were coming out as sharp gasps and Descole knew that what had happened was sending him into a state of shock. He put a firm hand on Anton's shoulder to reassure him.

"Look at me – just breathe, okay? You're going to be fine," he promised.

"...F-fine...?" Anton wheezed, "...How can... I be-be... fine when... I'm...?"

In that moment he didn't know how to say what he was.

Descole put an arm around Anton, helping up back up so they could carry on walking; "You are Anton Herzen, the Duke of Folsense, and you are too strong to let any of this stop you."

Anton did not reply, but Descole's words seemed to have renewed his vigour enough for him to carry on walking with the support of Descole. Raymond also came back to help, leading the two of them back to a carriage he'd had waiting. It seemed that he hadn't dared to bring the carriage any closer to Folsense itself. A wise decision.

Once Anton had been helped inside and they were on the move, Raymond filled Descole in on all that he had discovered. It seemed that Descole had not been away for just a few weeks, like he thought, but for several months. Because of this, they were now far behind in other plans that Descole had put on hold for what was supposed to be a brief detour. This fact seemed to annoy Raymond greatly and would probably in turn make Descole feel the same way once he'd had the time to dwell on it.

In regards to Anton, he was truly the Duke of Folsense, but Folsense itself had been abandoned some forty-eight years previously, once the hallucinogenic gas had been discovered in the mines. Anton had been living under the influence of the gas this whole time, assuming he was still a young man waiting for a beloved partner who had left him.

Raymond claimed that Sophia was the founder of Dropstone, as Descole had suspected. At this time, she was still alive, but very old and frail. It was unlikely that she would be in this world for much longer.

Upon hearing this, Descole frowned, looking inside the carriage to where Anton was resting. He himself had opted to travel up front with Raymond, who was steering the horses. This was all so cruel. He had been cruel to Anton, but he'd never expected any of this.

"It would be right to take him back to Dropstone," Descole resigned.

"I was hopin' ya'd say that," replied Raymond, "I've already made some arrangements with Nigel." Descole was still looking back into the carriage as he spoke, so Raymond went on, "Ya could stay an' say goodbye to him if ya wanted."

"No... that would not be wise," Descole sighed.

Admittedly, Raymond knew Descole would think of it that way, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

As evening fell, the still sleeping Anton was left with the true Nigel in Dropstone. They were assured that a doctor would check him over in the morning, but he would most probably be fine. After that, he would be reunited with his family, which included a granddaughter he'd never even known he'd had.

Descole was glad it wasn't him in that position. He had to force himself not to think about how terrifying all of this was going to be for Anton. Because if he thought too much about it, then he'd want to stay and he'd already spent too much time on Anton- ...no, too much time on Folsense. Too much time on a false lead.

So instead, he left with Raymond and never looked back to Anton again.


	45. Dalston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best laid plans could not account for what happened to Randall, but they could account for Dalston's decision to move to Monte d'Or.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after the flashbacks in PL5.

Some people know exactly what they want to do with their lives from a young age, others take a while to discover their passions and there are even some who may go through life having never managed to find what it is that they want to do.

Alphonse Dalston fell so neatly into the first of these categories that others thought it was almost scary. Not only did he know, with great certainty, that when he got older he wanted to own a hotel, but he was so methodical in his intentions that many who knew him would joke about him having his whole life planned out ahead of him.

Because of this, when he reached his teenage years, he was so focused on preparing for his future that he often cut himself off from the friends he'd grown up with. Once upon a time, he would have picnics with Randall, Angela and Henry out on the fields of Stansbury, but now they'd run off to have adventures without him. Eventually he even got replaced in their circle by a newcomer called Hershel, or it felt that way to Dalston.

He tried not to let it bother him, even though Randall's constant teasing saw rise to more than a few arguments between them. He would have time for friends once he'd successfully opened his first hotel. Maybe the same friends, maybe different friends. Who could know?

And it was on those cursed thoughts that Dalston inevitably learned that he could not plan for everything.

…Randall Ascot died in a tragic accident while exploring some ancient ruins.

It would be impossible for him to keep all the same friends without one of those friends being around to keep. He didn't blame himself for what happened to Randall, that would be unreasonable when what transpired had nothing to do with Dalston, but he did silently regret that he'd let so many years slip by without staying true to the bond they'd once had. Worse still, if anything, the last conversation he'd ever had with Randall had ended them on bad terms...

At this stage, he was still a teenager, however, and he wasn't above making stupid mistakes. This lesson probably should have taught him to value the friendships that remained, but it didn't. Instead it only seemed to strengthen his resolve to study more and only distanced him from the others even further. Perhaps he was too embarrassed to face them, he wasn't quite sure himself. But part of him felt that if he could achieve his goals, then at least something would be okay.

Years went on. Within that time, an arranged marriage between Angela and Dalston had been called off, as instead Angela had chosen to marry Henry. Dalston avoided talking to them both almost entirely after that, since any conversations they had would have been very awkward. Though it turned out he didn't have to worry much, as the newly wedded Ledores both moved away into the desert, so they could continue their search for Randall amongst the ruins where he'd last been seen.

Neither of them truly believed that Randall had died and while Dalston wanted to follow them in this belief, he knew that his studies needed to come first during this important time. So without anyone to distract him (Hershel had also moved away to London around this time and the two of them had never been close anyway), Dalston renewed his focus, over time achieving nearly all of what he'd aimed for.

The one goal that he hadn't yet reached was that of having his own hotel. Though he was in the perfect position to open one whenever he liked and in the end, it just came down to settling on a location to build it.

He'd poured over many potential locations, spending days weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of each, assessing how profitable they'd probably be and also trying to decide if he would be comfortable living near those places himself. But when he was being honest with himself, there was only one place that kept coming back to him...

…Monte d'Or.

The city that had been created in the search for Randall. It was a curious thing, really. Monte d'Or had started life as simply the Reunion Inn, a small place near the site of the Akbadain ruins that Henry had set up to house those who came to help him find his old friend. As time went on and word of Henry's wealth had spread, more people came there in the hope of earning their fortune by finding the lost Stansbury boy.

While Monte d'Or was still small at the moment, it had the potential to become a much larger city. Even in such a short space of time, it was already turning into more and more of a tourist attraction - less about exploring ruins and more about exploring what the city itself had to offer.

Sensible investors were putting their money into Monte d'Or and Dalston was a sensible investor.

But more than that, he was a friend of the Ledores. Or at least he had been. Whether they still saw him as one or not was something he didn't know. Part of him hoped that they did. And even if they didn't, many of the people he'd been close to in Stansbury were living in Monte d'Or now. It was an ideal place for him to open a hotel.

So in the end, that was exactly what he did. Dalston bought some land and organised the construction of a hotel that he could call his own. It might not be as grand as the Reunion Inn was growing to be, but it was his and it was everything he's wanted since he was a small child.

As well as building the hotel, Dalston also made a house for himself. This, however, he kept some distance from the centre of Monte d'Or. That way he was close enough to be able to keep an eye on his own business, but far enough away that he didn't feel as if he was part of Henry's circle. Perhaps it was damaging to think that way, but it made Dalston more comfortable.

Nevertheless, there was no way he could avoid Henry and Angela forever when he was practically on their doorstep. Angela certainly seemed to feel that way, as sometime after he arrived, a letter from her turned up on his doorstep. She politely asked if it would be possible for the three of them to meet up, to talk about the old days, as well as what might have happened since they all parted ways. From what she'd written, you'd never have been able to tell that they were all alienated by a tragedy, as it sounded just like she thought of them as two old school friends wanting to meet for lunch. But Dalston assumed that she might want to put the past behind her.

He replied in writing (conscious of the fact that his own scrawl looked terrible in comparison to Angela's neat handwriting), stating that he would be glad to visit her and Henry. Between the two of them, they managed to arrange a time that fitted around Henry's busy schedule.

Henry was seemingly very busy though, so it was a few weeks later before Dalston finally found himself making his way up the path towards the Ledore Mansion.

The walk was almost a daunting one. In some odd way, the house and grounds were so well-kept that it had somehow bypassed being welcoming and instead become imposing. The people who lived here were grand and wealthy. There was no way to get any other impression when approaching the building.

He knocked on the door, idly checking the back of his shoes were clean as he waited for someone to answer.

In all honesty, he'd expected to be greeted by a butler, but the man who answered the door was Henry Ledore himself. To be fair, Henry had worked as a butler when he was younger and everything about his current appearance suggested that he was still one now. If anything, he looked more like a butler now than he had done back when he worked for the Ascots – stern suit and a stern face to match it. The nervous smiles that had hung around Henry's mouth when he was younger had now been completely replaced by a quietly confident frown that was directed at Dalston.

"I'm glad to see you could make it," Henry said, although he did not look glad at all.

"Wouldn't want to let Angela down," murmured Dalston.

Henry turned away and muttered, "Follow me."

The corridor Dalston was led down looked a bit more homely than the outside of the mansion suggested, but in an almost forced way. It felt that the umbrella stand and the coat rack were organised the way they were more because someone had decided that's how they should look than because they were constantly being used.

They ended up in a living room that had much the same sort of feel, but he didn't have too much time to dwell on this fact, as Angela was already waiting for them. She had been sat on one of the chairs, but got to her feet as the two of them arrived, extending her arms and smiling warmly.

"Alphonse, welcome," she greeted, "I hope that Henry wasn't too sullen with you as he let you in."

"Henry is... Henry," Dalston dismissed, which seemed to be the right answer, judging from Henry's expression, "But never mind that. How have the two of you been since you left Stansbury?"

"We've been keeping ourselves busy," replied Angela.

It seemed Henry was keen to continue keeping himself busy, as he walked off to fetch a tea set from the side, motioning for Dalston to sit down as he did. Taking his cue, Dalston gingerly took a seat on one of the sofas, Angela returning to the chair she'd previously been sat on.

"So I've heard," he commented, "Word spread pretty fast about the reward you were offering for finding Randall."

"These days we prefer to keep that on a strictly need-to-know basis," Henry assured him, his tone sharp, "Perhaps we were too hasty in voicing our needs during those early days, as we attracted much interest from those who were more concerned with our fortune than helping us. Though, on the other hand, Monte d'Or would never have become as prosperous as it is without their attention."

"It certainly has become well-known in business circles. Admittedly that's part of the reason I chose to open a hotel here," Dalston agreed.

"Yes, well, I knew it wouldn't be because you wanted to help look for Master Randall," shot Henry.

Angela gasped, "Henry, please!"

"I'm sorry, Angela..." muttered Henry, "...Do you still take your tea black, Mr. Dalston?"

Deciding it was best not to chase that other line of conversation, Dalston answered, "Yes, with two sugars. And just 'Dalston' will be fine."

"Little has changed then," concluded Henry, spooning the sugars into the cup and passing it along to Dalston.

"Please forgive him. Henry is... very passionate about Randall," Angela apologised, taking another cup that Henry had offered to her.

"I'd have to say not much has changed there either," mumbled Dalston.

"All of our lives were affected when Randall left us, but I didn't invite you over to talk about that," Angela continued, "Instead, I want to say that I hope the three of us can build a new friendship here. As you may already know, many of Stanbury's former residents have settled in Monte d'Or, wanting to escape from the ghost town Stansbury became after the... the loss. It's been been a new start for most and I'd like for us to start on good terms as well."

She smiled across at him and he gave her a little smile in return. For a brief moment they might as well have been kids again, sharing picnics on a warm summer's day. But that moment was cut short by Henry stepping between them and sitting down on the sofa, purposely at a bit of a distance from Dalston.

"Didn't realise we were ever on bad terms," Dalston answered, snapping back to reality.

Angela looked down into her tea cup; "I just thought that... after the arranged marriage fell apart..."

Dalston held up a hand to stop her right there.

"You never wanted to marry me. I know that. You always had eyes only for Randall when we were younger and if you've now realised that Henry's the one you love, then I'm happy for you both," he assured.

The two of them looked a little awkward at the suggestion that they love each other, which was definitely strange for a husband and wife, but Dalston knew it wouldn't be a good idea to press too far into their private business.

"I'm glad you see it that way," Angela responded, after a pause that was a bit too long.

"It seems that with age does come maturity," Henry agreed, it was a thinly-veiled insult and Dalston gritted his teeth to ignore it, "But I must ask if we have much more to discuss here, Angela? While I don't want to appear rude, I have a lot of work to be getting on with."

"Don't let us keep you," grumbled Dalston.

"I'm sure we'll be just fine if you want to head off," Angela soothed, sensing that tensions were flaring up again, "I can see Alphonse out once we're finished talking."

"If you say so..." Henry replied, clearly defeated, "With that, I'll bid my leave. Dalston, it has been... a pleasure to catch up with you and I'm sure your hotel will bring further prosperity to our city."

He got up from the sofa, leaving so quickly that even Angela didn't have a chance to say goodbye. They both listened quietly as he walked down the corridor and it was almost a full minute after the front door hand closed behind him before Angela spoke again.

"He has an office at the Reunion Inn, most of his work is done there," she explained, her tone apologetic.

"I can imagine he's away a lot," Dalston commented, but he didn't want to dwell on Henry right now, "So what do you do with your time, Angela?"

She hesitated, and then answered, "I keep myself busy. Henry takes on so much, both at work and here, that I like to do what I can to make life as easy for the both of us as possible."

"Must get kind of boring," murmured Dalston, without thinking. When he realised what he'd said he quickly went to correct himself, "W-what I mean is that... um..."

There was no need though, as Angela was laughing good-naturedly at his slip up.

"Don't worry about it," she dismissed, "You're right, it does get a bit dull around here. But that's all part of growing up, isn't it? Back when we were kids, you couldn't grow up fast enough, if I remember right. At the time, I was too enchanted by Randall's tales of adventure to even think about such a thing, but time has its own method of letting these matters catch up with you."

"Sometimes I worry that we had to grow up too fast," Dalston admitted, feeling a weight off his chest to say it out-loud.

"That doesn't sound like the Alphonse Dalston I knew," Angela scolded, "What happened to all that planning out the rest of your life?"

"There are some things you can't plan for. And if I've learned anything from getting older, that's it," he countered.

Once again, without really meaning for it to, the conversation had seemed to move back to the loss of Randall. They both awkwardly avoided eye-contact, knowing this to be the case. Maybe the three of them were doomed to never fully be able to avoid thinking of him.

"I think... he'd just laugh at us if he knew we were sat around here moping after him," said Angela, "Henry's never once moped, but then, his own life is so very focused on plans now as well. His drive to find Randall is what gives me hope. And I know... the two of you have never really gotten along, but I think he's glad you've come here to wait for Randall with us."

"I never said anything about waiting for Randall," Dalston argued.

"But then why else would you come here of all places?" Angela reasoned, "And don't say it's because Monte d'Or is profitable. You could make money anywhere you choose, knowing you."

"Maybe I wanted to be close to friends..." he whispered.

Angela smiled warmly.

"And you are," she promised, "We can at least plan to all stay together from now on, can we not?"

"Yeah, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell Henry I said so. Don't want him thinking that I'm getting all soft," Dalston stubbornly insisted.

"Your secret's safe with me," giggled Angela, shaking her head at him.

Somehow, having shared these thoughts with Angela made Dalston feel a lot more comfortable about everything. He had always been so methodical that the prospect of not being able to plan for something scared him, even after he'd come to realise that this was just part of life. But the one thing he'd never been able to plan for, his friendships with the Ledores, was turning out to be going not as badly as he'd expected. And that was a nice feeling to end the day on.

The rest of the afternoon went with much idle talk of times gone by and how exciting Monte d'Or's future as a developing town was for Angela. There were a few times when conversation turned to Randall again, but the more they talked, the easier to became to sway away from that before the awkward silences descended. Henry didn't return for the rest of the day, but Dalston quietly felt that he didn't mind him not being there.

By the time Dalston realised he should be getting home, it was already turning dark and the cold chill of the desert evening was setting in. He still hadn't quite gotten used to the weather here yet, but he tried to ignore it, waving Angela goodbye from the doorstep.

"See you around then," he chimed.

"Yes, take care," Angela replied, "And don't worry, you'll get used to it."

"The weather?" Dalston asked, wondering if he did look as cold as he felt.

"That as well, but I meant Monte d'Or. It takes time, but you'll come to like it. Or, at least, I did," she clarified.

"And I'm sure I will as well," Dalston assured her, "Well... good night."

"Night, Alphonse."

He turned and headed off down the path, aware that she was watching him leave. It was a bit of a walk between the Ledore Mansion and his house, but a walk he felt he could definitely get used to just as much as he wanted to get used to Monte d'Or.

And if the three of them spent the rest of their days waiting here for Randall, well, those were plans he could get behind as well.


	46. Clive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silence does not bring Clive to a place where he can reflect upon his life quite as well as music does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set post-PL3.

Clive swallowed the feelings of self-consciousness as he stood in the middle of the room. He doesn't find doing so particularly hard, given that acting had become a large part of his life up until now. Not that he was particularly brilliant at it, but he'd been... passable.

Passable enough to fool Dimitri into thinking that he didn't hate him and also to be able to fool Layton into thinking he might have been "Future Luke" for a little while.

The trick to ignoring the nerves was simply not to think about them and get on. Because as soon as you hesitated, they'd got you.

Having said that, there was still something not too pleasant about holding a violin in a way that was most probably not the right way, while being watched by someone who not only did know the right way, but was perfectly aware that you were holding it wrong. He averted his gaze down towards the instrument, because it was easier than making eye-contact.

When was the last time he'd played the violin?

It had been when Constance was alive. He played because it made her happy, regardless of how good he was at it.

As he struck the first note, his mind shifted back to her. It might have only been five short years that they'd lived together, but those years had been amongst the most influential in Clive's life. Certainly, he'd never have been able to achieve anything that he had done without her and not just because of the funding she had unintentionally provided.

She was a genuinely nice person. One of the few who Clive felt truly deserved the wealth and happiness she had gathered during her life. For the time that she had extended that happiness to Clive, he was grateful. Even if it had indirectly caused him to realise that he was mad.

The vivid images of the fire had been etched in his mind since the day his parents had died. He'd overheard others say that because he was young, he'd probably forget these memories in time, but he did not. Whether they were the true memories of what had happened that day or something his mind had warped into being through the desperate hunger to remember, he did not know. But he did know that all he could think about was that fire and how he'd never known on the morning he'd kissed his parents goodbye that it would be the last time he'd ever see them.

Even surrounded by all the kindness Constance had shown him, Clive could think of nothing else. Therefore he, at such a young age, determined that he must be mad and any decisions he made from then onwards must keep that in mind.

It wasn't until later, during his teenage years, that Constance's place in society granted him the doorway to what would become his source of knowledge to feed the gaps his memory couldn't provide.

While she was no one more than simply one more wealthy person in the eyes of London, she had gathered many friends because of this. One such friend being Mr. Donovan, the current big-name in the London Times newspaper. He was a loud and boisterous man, often the focus of many scandals. But Constance assured Clive that underneath it, he was harmless. And through her friendship with Donovan, she managed to secure Clive an apprenticeship working for the London Times.

This suited Clive greatly. He'd never had any desire to go to university, given that academia was as much of a broken system as the rest of England was. An apprenticeship as a reporter gave him a much wider degree of freedom.

And, it turned out, more access to information than he could have ever imagined.

Although Clive had tried to look into the explosion that caused the fire on his own, he had been limited in what was available. The whole event had been suspiciously hushed up and the more Clive read into it, the more his realised why.

Finally, he had someone to blame for what had happened. Bill Hawks, the up-and-coming candidate who was favoured to win the next election, had been a scientist at the Institute of Polydimensional Physics. He was responsible for the explosion. Apparently he'd pushed ahead with an experiment that wasn't ready, in a desire to get more funding for it.

The articles he'd found spoke of another scientist who had commented to say that he didn't feel Hawks's decision to press forward with the project was correct. A man called Dimitri Allen. Apparently, the article with his comments had never been published, which didn't surprise Clive, given the trend he'd come across with these articles.

It didn't take long to research Dimitri and seek him out. It was fortunate for Clive that not only was the man still working as a scientist, but he was still bitter about Bill Hawks. Admittedly, Clive cared little for Dimitri's own tale of loss, but it did work as perfect leverage to convince Dimitri to go along with him. That between the two of them, they might be able to construct an absurd plan to get back at the person who'd caused the ruin in their lives.

But Dimitri wasn't enough. It was frustratingly slow having to tip-toe around him, making him think that all this was being done to help save Claire, a co-worker he'd lost to the explosion and apparently cared for dearly. Because Clive wasn't interested in changing the past. He'd accepted that his parents were gone now and his focus was stopping the dangerous place this country had become. A place where money and power granted you the ability to hide your wrong-doings and continue to hurt others.

Through an unfortunate coincidence, it was money that presented him with the ability to proceed in his own plans. Constance Dove's passing had left him with her wealth, estate and workers. He had little time to mourn for her though, as he was already moving to negotiate with the Family - London's very own gangsters. They were the people Clive needed. The Family would work under him for a price without asking questions.

Everything seemed to be moving much quicker now – the elaborate trap Clive wanted to create was well under way. Future London had seemed like a whimsical idea at first, born from Dimitri's obsession with time travel, but it had been perfect. A way to make people believe they were stuck in the future, so that they would work harder in an attempt to get back to the past. That was the logic behind kidnapping the scientists, more people to work on the time machine. Even if that thing only existed as a reason to distract Dimitri from the truth, it had become more complex lately. It was clear to see that Dimitri poured his obsession into it and this thankfully made him blind to anything else that Clive might have been doing...

...Like constructing a giant mobile fortress.

When he'd first presented the future Layton idea to Dimitri, however, he'd been surprised at how agreeable the scientist had been. It seemed that he knew Layton through some means and simply nodded in agreement that it would be more convenient to have Layton's mind trying to figure out their mysteries than have him running around above ground, risking stumbling across the truth on his own. Layton had an unfortunate knack for getting into affairs that he should keep away from. This was something Clive had learned from the frequent articles featuring him that turned up in the London Times.

So Dimitri agreed and never questioned Clive as to the real reason he wanted Layton there. Which was good, because those were answers that Clive didn't feel he could give. Letting Dimitri fill the blanks with his own presumptions was easier.

The day when they set their plan into motion seemed to come all too quickly.

In truth, Clive hadn't been there at the time machine presentation. He'd had too much else to work on at this stage to make sure everything went smoothly. But from what Dimitri had reported back to him, it seemed that it had all gone well. They now had Prime Minister Bill Hawks within their underground world and Layton was on his way to sniffing his nose into the situation.

His hand was trembling as he wrote the letter to Layton. Kind of like it was now, just thinking about it. The tune he was playing on the violin wobbled, but he soon recovered, just as his hand had done when writing the letter.

He was posing as Luke from ten years in the future, a role that he'd practised playing so much in the approach to this day. It was unlikely that Layton would believe him to be this, but Clive had set up so many events to put his mind at ease. It was just possible that he might pass for "Future Luke". His similar looks were fortunate, as was the fact that he was ten years Luke's senior.

Eventually Layton and Luke did find their way into his trap, though Clive was careful to use Shipley, one of the workers left to him by Constance, to communicate with them to start with. It made sense to give them a feel for future London at first, so that they weren't overwhelmed by it all. Watching them travel around, taking in the beautifully crafted world, was almost intoxicating.

Perhaps he might actually fool Hershel Layton.

That was what had run through his mind as he stepped out to greet the two of them in the casino. What followed was a rush of adrenaline like Clive had never felt before, as under his own instructions, the Family attacked. Layton was even more impressive than Clive could have hoped, swiftly constructing a machine gun out of... out of a slot machine. It would have been impossible to make this up. And Clive couldn't help himself but rush to the Professor's aid. It was almost fun, in the strangest of ways.

In the hours that followed, Clive couldn't stop himself from trying to prolong the time he spent with Layton and Luke. It was dangerous to the plan and he kept having to tear himself away from it, but at the same time, part of him wanted this. He wanted to believe that he was solving this mystery with them, even if he was, in truth, the puppet-master behind it.

Speaking of puppets, Clive also had to confess that Dimitri had done well in his role as the future Layton. Despite the fact that Don Paolo had turned out to be a mistake on Clive's part (he'd unexpectedly sided with Layton...), it didn't stop the real Layton from witnessing that Dimitri was very much a fraud in regards to being the Layton from this time.

It was hard to keep himself from looking at Layton's face following this. The Professor's expression betrayed that he was already starting to piece together that Dimitri might not be the only fake around here. He was dangerously close now. And Clive hoped to be there when he put everything into place.

Which turned out to be a wish that very soon came true. They gathered in the Thames Arms, all the key players in this farce, and Layton reeled off what he had learned.

The sensible part of Clive's mind was impressed. Some of the things he was coming out with, such as Clive's position working for the London Times, were not bits of information he could have found in future London. So it was possible that Layton knew of him even before today. Possible that he remembered all those years ago. Possible that he might not, in fact, have truly been taken in by this act...

All of those thoughts were drowned out, however, in the face of Clive's sharp laughter bubbling to the surface. He'd been holding it back for so long. Lying to everyone for what felt like forever. Not able to be Clive, because acting as someone else was more important. And suddenly the mask had been ripped off and quite abruptly he was Clive again.

Clive who had fooled everyone. Clive who was going to fix the United Kingdom. Clive who, by his own reckoning, was mad.

He barely had time to enjoy the disgusted shock on Dimitri's face at learning he, too, had been used, before the next part of his plan set into motion. He was running purely on instinct now, grabbing the girl Flora as a hostage, just to make Layton think twice about taking any rash actions.

Then he ran and he rode and he made his way down to his mobile fortress. A safe haven for him that would usher in the new age. The Family members he'd entrusted to be with him at this stage took Flora away to hold her captive, along with the other prisoner on this ride – Bill Hawks. The Prime Minister would get a front row seat in watching the corrupt London he'd helped create get wrecked beneath him.

So Clive took to drive this thing up and into London, internally screaming for Layton to try and stop him.

…

Layton had stopped him.

It had all come crashing down in a whirlwind. Layton had stopped him from destroying London. But he had not been the one to save Clive a second time. No, that had been Claire. The woman who really did travel through time. A blip on Clive's notes, who he had deemed as nothing. She had saved him from death with some of her last living moments.

She had been almost too cruel.

After that, it had all gone silent. He had been arrested, of course. The crimes he'd committed couldn't be counted. It was likely that he would spend the rest of his life imprisoned. Quite frankly, he knew he deserved this.

People had died.

He couldn't justify creating a better society for everyone if innocents were murdered in the process. Those people could have gone on to be just as loving and kind as Constance Dove had been. Perhaps they were already so.

Therefore he had no qualms with being led away to somewhere where he could never harm another person, but instead be left to dwell on his mental state for the rest of his life.

With that, his tune drew to a sad close, just as his story had done.

Suddenly he remembered the man sat at his piano at the end of the room, watching him critically. With some hesitation, Clive lowered the violin.

"You're not fantastic, I'll be honest," droned Oswald Whistler.

"Yes."

That was all Clive needed to say.

Whistler leaned forward thoughtfully; "The music here isn't about being fantastic though, which is fortunate for you. It's an outlet. One that I'm thankful to our wardens for allowing me to provide you all with."

It had been a long journey getting the wardens to agree to Whistler's desire for music lessons to be granted to the inmates, but the results had been fruitful. So many people were here for terrible reasons, but playing music under Whistler's guidance had acted as a release for them.

Today was the first time Whistler had heard Clive play. He'd been nervous after everything he'd heard about him, but he could feel the emotions pouring out into his tune. Even if he wasn't very good.

Given everything, it was unfortunate that Clive did not discover music much earlier in his life. And from the distant look on his face, Whistler felt that these were Clive's thoughts as well.

There was nothing else said as Clive moved to put the violin back into its case. The guards came to remove him almost immediately afterwards, since having him in with another person even for such a short amount of time had to be treated with the highest of security.

"I'll see you here at the same time next week, if you like," Whistler called after them, as they led Clive out. He wasn't sure why he was saying that, because honestly being in this situation made him feel unsettled.

Clive looked back at him as the cell doors were closed behind the guards.

"I'd like that."


	47. Evil!Layton AU (+Dimitri)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whose fault is it that your time machine won't work?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in a version of the Evil Layton AU presented in PL3.

Layton was used to hearing people tell him that things were all his fault at this point in his life. Used to hearing them scream it at him. His whole life had been wandering from one disaster to the next, trying to piece together a peaceful existence that he could cherish for himself, all while everything broke apart around him.

...And it was always his fault.

When Randall had insisted that they went into those ruins and had died there, that had been Layton's fault. They all told him it was his fault, with either their mouths or their eyes. Because Layton could not save him.

When Claire had been killed by the explosion at the laboratory, it had been Layton's fault once again. For a second time, Layton had been unable to save someone near and dear to him. Or anyone involved in what had happened that day. So the foolish boy Clive had wasted no time in telling him that it was Layton's fault during their... reunion.

He had tried as best he could to find out about what happened to Claire, to bring the truth to light. But all it had resulted in what him finding himself lying face down on the pavement, beaten and bruised. Sticking his nose in to seek justice had been his fault.

So on that day, when Dimitri screamed at him, he merely smiled.

"It's all your fault!"

"Yes," agreed Layton, "I suppose it probably is."

"Don't you even care? I thought we were both doing this for Claire! Not for... for politics!" Dimitri spat.

"Oh no, you misunderstood me," he corrected, "It is not my fault that your time machine doesn't work. That folly lies entirely on your own head. What is my fault, is that I once let myself be beaten down by insignificant whelks like yourself. I allowed people to convince me that things outside of my control were my fault. But no more. If the machine doesn't work, then you are of no further use to me and that is certainly not my fault."

"What are you babbling about?" Dimitri demanded, but at this point Layton was already signalling for two of the guards to grab him, "Don't you care about Claire? This was all for her!"

"And it still is all for her. Don't you worry about that for even a moment," assured Layton, "But to save her, progress must be swift. And you, my old friend, are now in the way of progress."

"You'll regret this, Hershel! You can never save her life without me!" screamed Dimitri, as the guards dragged him forcibly out of the door.

Layton did not answer, because he knew that Dimitri was wrong. None of this was Layton's fault. And he would never again allow another person to convince him that their own mistakes were his fault. The only person who's mistakes he'd account for were ones that were truly his own. And, he'd come to discover, as sickeningly narcissistic as this might be to believe, Hershel Layton did not ever make mistakes.


	48. Janice/Melina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems that everything Melina does makes Janice and Whistler worry about her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime before Eternal Diva.

"Help! I can't breathe! Please, come help!"

Janice and Mr. Whistler's heads both jerked towards where Melina was splashing about in the water. It was Janice who moved first, being the younger and more nimble of the two. She pulled herself up from the beach towel and sprinted towards the edge of the rocks, then took a dive into the water below.

She might not be the strongest swimmer, but that didn't matter. Melina needed her.

They had been so foolish to let her swim so far by herself. Especially with her health declining as it had been lately. Melina had stubbornly assured them both that she was fine and they were fretting about nothing, but clearly that wasn't the case.

It seemed like an eternity until Janice reached Melina, but in truth it could only have been a few seconds. She threw her arms around the other woman, pulling her close.

"It's all right, Melina! I've got you!"

With that, Melina burst out laughing, now really having to cling onto Janice so that she didn't sink.

"You two really are such worriers! I knew you'd do that," she giggled, shaking her head.

"That's... not funny..." gasped Janice, "We genuinely thought you were drowning!"

Blowing her hair out of her face, Melina replied, "That just proves what I was saying earlier – you both worry far too much! I've got an illness, but that doesn't mean I'm going to die tomorrow. So let me have some fun. Let me swim with you. Please..."

Melina was now using one hand to play with the braid in Janice's hair, looking shyly down at her shoulder.

"I suppose I can't say no to that," sighed Janice, "But first, can we please go explain to your father what's happening. He's going to be so panicked."

"He does get flustered too easily. And so do you," Melina accused.

"Only because we care about you," Janice assured her.

Taking her hand under the water, Melina softly hummed, "...Thank you. I know I get annoyed about it, but I am very glad that you care about me."

They stayed there for a few moments more, swaying together in the ocean's current and listening to the gentle sound of the waves. Silently savouring this time they had together, as long as it may last.


	49. Claire & Brenda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire would never let down a friend who needs her, but on this occasion, what Brenda might need is for her to take a step back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime before the flashbacks in PL3.

"P-please come get me..."

That voice sent shivers down Claire's spine. It sounded so hurt. So in need of a friend.

"Where are you even calling from?" Claire's tone was panicked, she could hear Brenda hiccupping back tears from the other end of the phone.

"I'm... I'm just b-back stage at the theatre. Th-they let me use the phone here a-and I needed to... to call someone," Brenda sobbed, pushing back the stupid little top hat they'd made her wear for the performance, since it was threatening to fall off her head.

Claire nodded, content that Brenda was safe there; "So what happened? Did Clark do anything?"

There was a gasp that sounded as if it lay half way between anguish and annoyance.

"I wish you'd trust him a bit more, Claire," Brenda scolded, "Clark's fine, really he is. He even came to see the show tonight and I wanted it to go perfectly but... but... I completely messed up. And knocked over about two of the other back-up dancers while I was at it! There's no way I can show my face out there after ruining the show like that..."

"You're being too hard on yourself," soothed Claire, "It was one show out of so many that you've done really well. I've seen you practising before – you're truly dedicated and everyone you work with must be able to see that. Look, maybe tonight didn't go the best that it possibly could, but you just need to calm down and think about it in a better frame of mind tomorrow. I'm coming to pick you up, all right?"

There was a loud sniff, followed by a conclusive, "All right. Thanks Claire. I really do appreciate it..."

"No problem. Anything for you. I'll see you as soon as I can."

With that, Claire hung up and raced to fetch her car keys. As an afterthought, she also grabbed a coat – two coats, actually, since Brenda might not have hers with her. The rain hadn't set in until after she'd left for the show, after all.

As she left the house, her mind filled up with worries about her friend. Brenda put her whole self into anything she tried and didn't take messing up very well. Her desire to do stage shows had come out of the blue and it had been difficult for her to balance alongside her studies at Gressenheller, but that hadn't made her any less determined. She'd been so thrilled when the theatre picked her to be one of the back-up dancers for that show. One hiccup could ruin her confidence completely...

Best not think about that now. At least Brenda would be safe until Claire got there. Then the two of them could head back home and talk this out over a cup of hot chocolate and whatever happened to be playing on the radio at the time.

It was a good half an hour drive to the theatre, but fortunately this meant most of the cars that would have been there for the end of the performance had already headed off. Because of that, Claire had no troubles finding a parking space.

And, as it turned out, she didn't have any trouble finding Brenda either. Her friend was stood at the entrance of the theatre, still wearing her stage clothes. Rain dripped off the sad little top hat and mingled with the tears on her cheeks. But, despite that her face was red raw from crying, Brenda smiled and didn't appear to be sad at all.

The reason for this was obvious, as with her was Clark – just as drenched, but quickly taking his own coat off to put over Brenda's shoulders. It balanced awkwardly on the wings of the outfit and Claire couldn't help but wonder who would choose such an odd looking costume for a stage show anyway. As much as she loved top hats, they didn't exactly go with angel wings.

"Just my luck that today would be the one day I forget to bring an umbrella," Clark laughed.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine. And I... I appreciate that y-you waited for me," mumbled Brenda, glancing down.

"You looked like you needed someone to be there for you," Clark murmured, cheeks flushing pink, "And I couldn't let you head off feeling as bad as you do. Especially after you'd been so great up until then."

"You're just saying that," scoffed Brenda, cheering up just hearing that, regardless.

"Not at all! I couldn't take my eyes off you the whole time! Though maybe that's because you're also very beaut-"

"Sorry I'm late!" Claire cut in, hurrying over before that sentence could be completed, "There was some bad traffic. But I'm here now if you want to... if you want to..."

She trailed off.

Just look at these two. They obviously like each other very much. And, as much as Claire had her doubts about Clark, he must care about Brenda a lot to wait out here in the rain for her. Maybe an evening at home wasn't what Brenda needed right now after all.

"Um, well, I brought your coat," she corrected, "No point in you both getting wet, is there? So give Triton here his own coat back and I'll... see you tomorrow."

"Are you sure? Weren't we going to head home?" checked Brenda, taking the coat that Claire held in her direction.

"I was just going to study tonight anyway," Claire dismissed, "We shouldn't both have to be bored. You go on ahead and I'll catch up with you later."

Brenda gave her friend a small, grateful smile. It was the only confirmation Claire needed that she'd done the right thing.

"Thanks, Claire. And for bringing the coat as well. You're the best," whispered Brenda.

"Don't think anything of it. Now head off while there's still enough of this evening left to find a decent restaurant. And you'd better be a gentleman and pay the bill, Triton, or you'll have me to deal with," Claire warned.

"Don't worry, I promise I will!" assured Clark, holding his hands up in defeat and smirking.

"Good. Well... bye then," concluded Claire.

She turned and headed off back to the car before Brenda had a chance to offer for her to come along. Brenda was so nice like that and she wouldn't want Claire to be left out. But at the same time, Claire knew that she'd been wanting to spend time with Clark for ages. Maybe tonight might end up being the chance for that to happen. And if so then, in typical British fashion, it'd be another case of bumbling into a relationship without really meaning to. Her and Hershel could both vouch for that method.

Closing the door of the car, Claire gave the two of them a wave and headed off back towards home. Silently, she amused herself with the thought of what Clark's expression might be when he saw the bill for the meal – Brenda had quite an appetite for good food, after all.


	50. Gus & Marilyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus finds himself lost in the woods at night, where there's possibly a sinister spectre lurking around...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime before the events of PL4.

The air grew much colder as the mist settled in. Gus swallowed his nerves, glancing around the dark streets and trying to make sense of where he was. Misthallery might have been his home, but the fog had been getting worse since the spectre had started showing up, leaving him as lost as... as... well, something that was very lost. He'd never been good at drawing comparisons.

...Or at talking to his friends.

He gave a loud sniff that had nothing to do with the chill, cursing how stupid he'd been earlier. It was all his fault – he could see that Marilyn had been busy and stressed dealing with the customers at her stall, but he'd hung around anyway. All he'd wanted to do was talk to her, he liked talking to Marilyn the most of all out of all the Black Ravens. But she'd been so caught up in selling stuff, she hadn't had time to talk. Even so, he'd kept trying, until she'd yelled at him. Then he'd got upset and ran off. It wasn't that he was scared or angry, just that he felt so stupid for making her get that annoyed.

Though even if he hadn't been scared earlier, at this very moment, he was able to admit that he was a bit scared...

Let's see, he knew he hadn't gone too far. Not as far as Highyard Hill, anyway. Before he'd gotten there, he'd turned off into the woods and wandered about for a while. Maybe he'd headed quite far in. At some point, he past the nice fish lady's lab, because she'd seen him and warned him not to stay out too late. It had been light then.

It wasn't light at all now.

And his mind started wandering, away from Marilyn and how much she must hate him, onto the rumours of the spectre that plagued Misthallery. It didn't help his nerves, but it wasn't as if he couldn't think about it, after seeing all the damage it had done. Maybe Louis thought the spectre was some fairy tale, but the broken houses were very real.

Thankfully, the spectre didn't seem interested in the market or the houses around there. Maybe even an ominous ghost creature didn't care about poor people. But right now, it didn't matter if the spectre never set foot in the market, because he wasn't in the market, was he? He was... somewhere. It was possible that he'd even wandered into the spectre's secret lair where it went to sleep during the day, before coming out to smash houses and gobble up naughty kids at night.

Okay, so no one had said anything about it eating anyone up to now, but you never know!

There was a squelching sound beneath his feet. He'd stood in some mud. If this was where the spectre lived, then it was certainly an awfully foul place.

But he didn't have much time to think about that, as just ahead of him some leaves crackled underfoot.

"W-w-who's there?" he squeaked, "I'm not scared of you!"

Then something shone in his direction, a brilliant, bright light. It was enough to startle Gus, making him trip over his feet and fall backwards into the oozing liquid the spectre had left behind. Or maybe it was just water from the river, Gus wasn't in the mood to check.

"Gus? Is that you?"

As he pulled himself up, the light came closer. Through the mist he was able to make out Marilyn, heading over to him and looking very concerned. She was carrying a torch and, yes, it turned out that it was the river he was standing in, not monster gloop.

"Hiya Marilyn..." Gus mumbled, looking down at his muddy feet.

"Thank goodness! We've all been so worried about you," she gasped, rushing over, "The others have been out all afternoon. We had no idea you'd have got this far."

So even when he wasn't not there, Gus managed to ruin everyone's day by making them look for him. That's just great. Crow must be so cross to have lost an entire afternoon's worth of work time.

"I'm sorry..." whispered Gus, trudging away from the river and towards where Marilyn was standing.

"Don't be sorry, I'm just glad to see you're all right," Marilyn sighed. She took out a blanket from a bag she'd been carrying and wrapped it around him, "Now let's get out of here before... well, before anything happens."

"Okay," he replied, shuffling along with her, "Um, I'm sorry that I made you angry..."

"What, that? Don't be! It's just that I need to concentrate on the stall when I'm at work," explained Marilyn, "It's not that I don't want to talk to you, it's just that I don't always have the time. But I shouldn't have snapped, that was wrong of me."

"No, I should have known you were too busy. It's just that... I like talking to you..." Gus could feel his voice getting quieter with each word. How come talking to Marilyn earlier had seemed so easy and yet now it was so difficult?

She smiled warmly at him; "I like talking to you, too..."

They looked at each other quietly through the dim light of the torch, but before the butterflies could fly right up out of Gus's stomach, there was a snap overhead that made them both jump. It was soon followed by the caw of a disgruntled bird, but even if it hadn't been a threat, the damage was done.

"D-do you believe in the spectre, Marilyn...?" Gus asked, drawing in on himself, "Louis says it's just some silly story rich people make up."

"I believe that there's... something. And no matter what it is, there's no point hanging around out where it can get us," answered Marilyn, squinting ahead through the gloom as they walked.

"But we're so far from the market. It might... you know," Gus whimpered, "And I'm sure it can run faster than we can..."

"Maybe so, but there's one thing I know for sure," Marilyn said, and suddenly she was staring triumphantly ahead.

"And that's that?" checked Gus.

"That no matter how fast it can run, it'll be no match for one of Bucky's boats."

Following her gaze, Gus caught sight of a large figure appearing from out the fog. If he'd seen it earlier, he would have probably been terrified, but right now Bucky's wide, slightly creepy grin seemed like the most welcome sight in the world.

"Let's go then," Marilyn chimed, grabbing hold of Gus's hand, "Before the wicked spectre can catch us!"

So they ran towards the boat, laughing carelessly and, in that moment, feeling safe from whatever creature might lurk in the gloom.


	51. Drake/Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow Drake managed to get through life, despite never seeing his chances of doing so as being very high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a short time before Layton & co. arrive in Monte d'Or, using the prompt "33%".

Drake was 33% sure that he was getting out of London alive. That left roughly two thirds to account for the police tracking him down. Or worse than them, the Family.

He deemed his chances as slim, but not impossibly so. It was never easy to give two such large organisations the slip, but neither the police nor the Family were invincible. They had holes in their nets, holes that were just wide enough for someone as slim as Drake to fit through.

So, on such a small percentage, Drake managed to leave London and start a new life of his own.

That 33% figure would return when Drake was weighing up his chance of this life being successful. Perhaps he was not part of the Mafia any more, but people could sort of sense it about him. They saw his sharp appearance, his sly smirk, his narrow eyes, and they just knew. No one would give any chances to a man like him. They were too scared of what he might do to them. Part of Drake couldn't blame them.

But then, amongst the wandering doubt, he one day came to meet Henry Ledore.

Mr. Ledore was like no other - a shrewd businessman who had sprung up seemingly from nowhere. In such a short time, he had built a city in the desert, a prosperous city that seemed even more impossible than Drake's success did. And only a man like Mr. Ledore who could pull it off, because he looked at what other people regarded as nothing and he saw potential.

He looked at Drake and saw potential.

Where no one else would, Mr. Ledore gave him a chance. He entrusted him to make a profitable life in Monte d'Or, because he believed that Drake could do it, even more than Drake did himself. So when the casino opened, it was entirely thanks to Mr. Ledore. Perhaps he didn't know it, but he'd changed Drake's life forever.

Given the swiftly evolving nature of the city, Drake was only 33% certain that Monte d'Or would remain untouched by harm forever, as much as he'd like this to be the case.

Sleep rarely came for Drake, because instead would just lie awake, worried that the Family might some day track him down here. Despite that news of their actions seemed to dry up abruptly one day, almost as if they'd disappeared off the face of England, he still worried. Drake couldn't trust them to be gone. And if anything were to happen to the kindly Mr. Ledore because they'd came here for Drake, then Drake would never forgive himself. He also wouldn't rest until the Family had been brought to a brutal end for daring to touch such a perfect human being. They weren't worth being near Mr. Ledore, even less so than Drake himself was.

But it was not the Family who brought trouble to Monte d'Or. Instead came a man in a grinning, golden mask, bringing both terror and showmanship to their desert city. In Drake's eyes, Monte d'Or needed neither.

The Masked Gentleman, as he called himself, targeted Mr. Ledore, which terrified Drake. He knew so little of Mr. Ledore's history that he had no idea what kind of enemies he might have made. Only that those people were clearly in the wrong, because there was no way someone as wonderful as Mr. Ledore could ever do anything worthy of having enemies. Certainly not the sort who'd send him such elaborate threats, as this beast of a person did.

But as he watched Mr. Ledore, taking in the troubled frown upon his face, the way his brow furrowed so thoughtfully, Drake suddenly realised that he once again only had 33% certainty that there was anything that he could do to help him. It was not his place. He'd been granted his role in Monte d'Or to keep the peace. In this time of danger, there needed to be those who'd put on a brave face and assured the tourists that they would be fine. Because Monte d'Or would not survive without the trade.

On the other hand, if Mr. Ledore did not survive...

...If the Masked Gentleman was to take the life of such a wonderful man...

...Then Drake knew with 100% certainty that he would never, ever be all right again. But then again, neither would the Masked Gentleman.


	52. Crow/Badger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The days in Misthallery brought dread of the foggy nights, when the spectre was rumoured to lurk about. Badger and Crow reflect upon this from a ledge in the market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime before the events of PL4.

Being a Black Raven was, for the most part, a lot of work. Everyone had their own job to do, their own thing that they were good at, which Crow specifically asked them to focus on. In Badger's case, this was dressing up as the Black Raven itself and running across the rooftops to confuse potential customers who they might lure to the black market. This suited him just fine, because it meant that he could push his athletic prowess, while also not have to talk to any of the strangers who came to find them. Badger hated talking to people he didn't know, it made him freeze up every time.

But it couldn't all being speeding around in a costume, as some days it might be hours before a new customer turned up. And other days there weren't any new customers at all...

On those days, Badger would have to be banished to the role of look-out. Which basically meant that Crow didn't have any idea what else he should be doing, so he might as well hang around to spot any potential customers or general newcomers to Misthallery. His posts included both the market itself and the little wood nearby, though Badger wasn't sure how many people came to Misthallery just to wander amongst some trees.

Thankfully, today saw him at the market, perched on his ledge. The wooden platform had become 'his' ledge sometime ago, simply because he kept using it. He was quite fortunate that the house it was attached to seemed to have long since been left abandoned. Rumour had it that it had been part way through a renovation years back, but after Evan Barde passed away, the funding dried up and nobody seemed to know or care who the old building legally belonged to any more. So it was Badger's now and that suited him just fine. Being just out of the way of the people below meant that he was less likely to have to talk to anyone.

It didn't get half boring on quiet days like today, though.

Badger sighed, glancing out onto the town that lay before him. It would have been an impressive sight, if he hadn't seen it hundreds of times before. Nothing changed here. Nothing except, well...

From where he was he couldn't see the damaged houses that lay further up Misthallery, but he didn't need to see them to know that they were there. From the spectre, everyone had said. Some big monster that lurched through the evening fog, destroying anything that lay in it's path.

Thankfully, there was no fog this early in the afternoon, but that didn't matter. No matter how clear the sky was at day time, at night the mist would settle in and not let up until morning. That's where the town got it's name from, Badger had been told. But lately, there'd been even more fog than usual – thicker, murkier fog, that hid the looming eyes of the spectre...

Badger shook his head. It wouldn't do to think like that. The spectre has left the market alone so far, meaning that as long as he was here, he'd be safe.

"Oi, Badge'!"

He looked down from his post to see their stout leader staring up at him. Something must be up if Crow had left his inventory at this time of day.

"Yeah, Crow? Somethin' the matteh?" he checked.

Crow shrugged and replied, "Marilyn says that Gus ran off. Apparently they 'ad an argument this aftahnoon an' the little guy legged it. I wouldn't worry too much though, 'e'll probably show up soon enough, just thought I'd let ya know in case ya see 'im."

"I'm surprised you doun't 'ave everyone out lookin' for 'im," commented Badger, "You usualleh do when someone disappears."

"Well, I kinda did tell everyone else to 'ave a nosy around," Crow confessed, "But I doubt 'e's gotten too far, an' with so many o' us we're bound to find 'im soon enough."

"With that spectre lurkin' out there, I 'ope so..." murmured Badger, more to himself than to Crow.

There was the sound of creaking steps and suddenly Crow was climbing he way up the ladder. Badger shuffled to a side, so he'd have more room to climb out at the top.

"No one's 'eard of it attackin' durin' the day yet," Crow said, as he stepped out onto the platform. He looked at Badger sternly, as if he felt the need to put his troubled mind to rest.

"Doun't mean it won't start," Badger argued, glancing away and out across the market. Keeping Crow's gaze was too hard, especially when it got as intense as that.

Crow shrugged, "If it does, we'll just 'afta be ready for it."

"What can we do? A buncha kids in some old market. No one's ever been scared of that," sighed Badger.

"But they're scared o' the Black Raven, right?" reminded Crow, "No one knows we're just kids an' we've been 'ere longah than that spectre."

"Still doun't mean I'd want t' take 'im in a fight," Badger insisted. Crow could get ahead of himself sometimes. As much as being the Black Raven brought them wonder and respect from people that they'd never manage to get on their own, it didn't make them super heroes that could take down some big, unknown monster.

"Neither would I," Crow confessed, joining him in staring out at the town.

They stayed like that for a short while, not saying a word. Badger wasn't good at making conversation anyway and sometimes Crow just needs to think. He was probably coming up with some genius plan that'd save them all from that monster and if Badger interrupted him now, then he'd be really cross. So instead, Badger shifted his glance from the town to Crow himself. That thoughtful, strange, amazing boy, who'd taken a load of nothings like them and turned them into something. At times, Badger would proudly think that they might be the most successful business in town (though Paddy from the restaurant would probably argue with him on that point) and it was all down to Crow. There was no way Badger couldn't admire someone like that.

"The fog rolls in from the 'ills," said Crow, out of nowhere. It made Badger jump. Not that it mattered, since Crow was still looking out onto Misthallery and not at him.

"That's just 'ow fog works," Badger replied, once he'd recovered.

"Yeah, I guess so. But it comes so quickly an' disappears, just as fast, as if someone stopped needin' it," Crow went on, and Badger noticed that he was looking towards where the hills would be, had the old building not been blocking them from sight.

"No one needs fog," muttered Badger.

"The spectre needs it," Crow argued.

"So you think the spectre is a magic fog-makin' creature?" checked Badger, smiling ever so slightly at that.

"Dunno. Can't say I know what it is, or if it's even a spectre at all," admitted Crow, "I've lived 'ere all my life, Badge', an' I don't put much into fairy tales, but there's this one that old folk in town talk about a lot. Do ya know it?"

Badger searched his head. He wasn't one for stories, since he didn't know how to read, but even after only living in Misthallery for a short time, he'd heard that tale. People around here seemed quite proud of it, as if it made their town special. Or they had done before the spectre started showing up, anyway.

"I think I know most of it, yeah. That some farm girl played a magic flute n' summoned a spectre to protect Mist'allereh from bandits?" Badger recited. About a year ago, the Black Ravens had sold an ocarina that they claimed to be this flute of legend. Crow had made sure all of them were familiar with the story, so that there'd be no slip ups. In the end, they'd gotten a high price for it, so the effort had been worth their while. He couldn't understand why Crow was bringing it up now; "The spectre in that story wasn't smashin' buildin's though," he pointed out.

"But maybe they're connected some'ow. Mist'allery must 'ave only been a little town back then, it wasn't even named in the book," hummed Crow, "Maybe it was named aftah the mist that the spectre brought in with it."

"Might 'ave been..." Badger agreed. He didn't know about anything like that, but he did know that the fog got worse after the spectre turned up. If that was what happened with the spectre in the story, then Badger couldn't blame them for naming a town after it.

"Not that it mattahs if it's the same one or somethin' completely different from the story. At the end of the day it's still attackin' our town," said Crow.

'Our' town. As if they owned it. In some small way, Badger thought that Crow did own his own little part of the town. The market certainly wouldn't be the same without him, that was for sure.

Another lapse into silence, giving them both a chance to reflect upon how late it was getting. The sun was setting and it's rich, pink glow only served to demonstrate that the mist was settling in. Had they really been talking that long? To Badger it felt like hardly any time at all.

"What do ya think, Badge'?" Crow asked, out of the blue.

"I think... I think that we're all scared, like," Badger answered, earnestly, "We doun't know what's goin' on, none of us does, so we're all just goin' about our lives to make ourselves feel betteh. B'cause if we doun't, then we'll get distracted by not knowin' 'ow to cope with it all."

"Yeah," Crow agreed, "I reckon ya right. It makes me uneasy to sit around not doin' anythin' though."

"I'd rather you didn't run off t' deal with it yourself," scolded Badger.

"Yessir, o' great Badger, sir," chuckled Crow. It seemed that even when Badger was trying to be proper serious, Crow wouldn't take it. That was just like him.

"I mean it, Birdie," Badger insisted, "It's not your job t' look afteh the 'ole of Mist'allereh."

"Nah, just to look aftah you lot," concluded Crow.

There was no way that Badger could argue about that; "You do a good job of doin' just that."

"I 'ope so," mumbled Crow.

He looked troubled, so much so that Badger wanted to take hold of his shoulders and tell him it was going to be all right, that all of them were going to be fine, even if he couldn't stop the spectre. But that'd be too weird. The last thing that Badger wants is to look like a weirdo in front of Crow...

So instead they just stayed there for a while longer. At first, Badger had felt uneasy at the amount of awkward silences they'd fallen into. But then he realised that if Crow had wanted to leave, then he would have done so. He wasn't staying here just to spare Badger's feelings, he was staying here because he wanted to, even if they were just watching an unusual little town fall into darkness.

The air grew colder with the arrival of the night and the mist settled all around them like a veil. It would have almost been comforting, had it not been for the fear of what lurked down there. Badger wasn't looking forward to walking home in this.

"There," Crow suddenly said, pointing into the gloom.

Following his gaze, Badger caught sight of two figures, wandering through the streets. Luckily, they were not spectre-like creatures, but instead were Marilyn and Gus, heading towards their houses and chatting to each other.

"Looks like they made up," Badger observed.

"Knew they would," replied Crow, "They just needed some time. But if they'd taken any longah, I woulda 'ad to go out lookin' for 'em."

"So that's why you've been up 'ere all this time..." mumbled Badger, feeling slightly dejected. Of course he was happy that Gus was unharmed and that they'd made it back safely, but part of him had hoped that their leader had stayed up here for him.

Crow shrugged, "Partly, yeah. But mostly 'cause I wanted to talk to ya."

"Give oveh, you're just tryin' to butteh me up now," tutted Badger, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I am not," assured Crow, "But if that's 'ow ya gonna be, I'll go stand with Louis next time."

"No you won't, 'e'd drive you up the wall with all 'is gossip," dismissed Badger, heading past Crow and towards the ladder. His foot was on the first step when he heard the shorter boy speak up again.

"Badge'?"

He turned back; "Yeah?"

"Want... want me to walk ya 'ome? I know it ain't far from 'ere, but the fog's thickah than pea soup," he mumbled.

"I'm not scared of some fog," Badger assured him.

"All right then," answered Crow, sounding almost as bad as Badger felt, despite trying to act casual about it.

He couldn't leave Crow like this, that'd be cruel.

"We're 'eadin' the same way anyway," Badger pointed out, "My 'ouse is a bit furtheh than yours, so I'll walk with you until we get there."

Not waiting for a response, Badger carried on down the ladder. He soon heard creaky footsteps behind him as Crow followed.

"Thanks, Badge'," Crow whispered, "Um...?"

"What?" prompted Badger.

"Ya can stay the night, if ya want. I know my place is a bit, well, it ain't as nice as Wren an' Sockets, but I'm sure we could make room for one night. Mum won't mind."

No one ever got offered to stay at Crow's house. The leader was secretive and preferred not to talk about his home life as much as he could help it. Being allowed into that bubble was like a strange sort of honour.

"All right," Badger replied, trying to sound as calm as he didn't feel, "Guess it beats wakin' dad up at this time."

"Glad to 'ear," chimed Crow, rushing to catch up with Badger, so they could walk together.

Their footsteps echoed into the evening, squelching down the mossy cobbles that had gotten damp with the arrival of the mist. Perhaps they were all alone and perhaps they were not, they couldn't say for sure. But it did seem that, luckily for them, the spectre didn't choose to bother market kids that night.


	53. Chelmey, Amelie & Barton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspector Chelmey had a lot in life that he cared about and wanted to protect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set at some unspecific point during the original trilogy.

Inspector Gilbert had never demanded Chelmey to look after Barton, it was something that Chelmey had decided was right to do. That he'd feel better in himself for doing it, to make up for all the years that Gilbert had looked after him.

But he'd never imagined that looking after Barton would be such a mammoth task.

They had both joined Scotland Yard because they wanted to help people, in that respect they were the same. But in Chelmey case he regarded the world with a disillusioned determination that helped him do his job to the highest of his ability. Whereas Barton just liked everyone and hoped everyone liked him in return. Which isn't to say that this was a bad approach, just that his naivety resulted in Chelmey having to pull him out of dangerous situations on more than one occasion.

He'd whine to Amelie about it sometimes and she'd scold him for saying such things. Because the thing about Barton was that his charms were infectious – everyone did indeed like Barton. Not liking Barton was like kicking a puppy. Only bad people could not like Barton. And Amelie, being the most wonderful person in the world, was glad to have Barton hanging around the house, eating her home-cooking with much gusto. So hearing Chelmey say anything negative about him would turn her expression very sharp indeed.

"To think you'd talk like that when he looks up to you so much," she tutted.

"It's not that I don't think he's a good lad," Chelmey quickly reasoned, "Just that... I'm not sure how right he is for the Yard."

"Is there anything wrong with having a bit of cheer around that place?" demanded Amelie, "Heaven knows that all the sourpusses there could do with it." Her stare was pointed enough to almost make Chelmey want to recoil.

"And everyone likes him for it, believe me. But sunshine and rainbows are a fat lot of good when you're chasing down a criminal on the streets of London," retorted Chelmey.

"Barton helps in his own way," Amelie insisted.

Chelmey sighed, "We don't need a mascot, we need-"

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything, sir!"

And just like that, Barton was standing in the hallway, loyally saluting. Chelmey wasn't sure exactly how much of their conversation he's overheard, but he didn't seem too put-out by it, judging from his expression.

"Not at all, Barty," Amelie assured, "I was just telling Chelmey that he needs to stop being such a grump at work. Do you think you could help out with that?"

"Upon your orders, I will work hard every day to ensure that the Inspector is behaving the least like a grump that he possibly could be," promised Barton.

"That's very kind of you. I'll be sure to save you some cheese and onion scones from the batch in the oven," Amelie replied.

"This is co-conspiring!" Chelmey barked.

"Excuse me, sir, but I believe that you are being what the lovely Amelie would regard as a grump. And it is my sworn duty to stop you from being such a thing," Barton firmly told him. The look of determination on his round, adorable face was impossible to take seriously.

"I most certainly am not being a grump," Chelmey huffed, folding his arms.

"Never mind him," dismissed Amelie, "He'll cheer up as soon as those scones are ready."

"So you're saying that to get the Inspector to be an all-round more cheerful person, that I have to learn to make scones to the same high quality that you do?" asked Barton. That seemed like an impossible feat to him. Especially considering that Amelie's cooking was simply divine!

"Ah, no dear. I'm sure you can look after this silly husband of mine in other ways," Amelie assured, "But would you go check on the oven for me? Wouldn't want them to burn."

"Right you are!" piped Barton, dashing off into the kitchen.

"I'm the one who looks after him," grumbled Chelmey.

"Sometimes I wonder about that, Chelms," hummed Amelie, much to his annoyance.

But it was true, Chelmey thought to himself. He'd made a vow to Gilbert that he'd look after his son. Even if that meant protecting his almost impossible optimism from all of the bad people he encountered on a daily basis in Scotland Yard. It was a tough job, but if the reward was being on the receiving end of playful banter from Barton & Amelie, then it was one job that Chelmey was more than happy to do for the rest of his life.

Ol' Gilbert had always wanted Chelmey to have more of a life away from the force and being here with the two of them was just that. It gave Chelmey something to strive for, a reason to want to make England as safe as it possibly could be. Because if he could do that, then maybe everyone might have a chance to be as happy as Chelmey was. Even if he was somewhat terrible at showing his appreciation.

"Looks like the scones are indeed ready, sir and madam!" Barton called through from the kitchen.

"I thought it smelled like they were done," replied Amelie, "Can you be a dear and set the table, Chelms? I'll go get them plated up."

"As you wish, love," replied Chelmey, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, before going through to the kitchen; where he found Barton already sat eagerly at the table, waiting. "Bleedin' heck, Barton! Make yourself at home, why don't you?"

"I do everyday, sir," Barton confirmed.

Chelmey shook his head; "You really are something else, you know that?"

"Have heard reports to that effect, sir," answered Barton, cheerfully swinging his feet under the table.

How could anyone stay mad at that? Chelmey didn't know. He certainly couldn't. And the combined powers of Barton & Amelie were even worse. But he loved them, in his quiet, grumbly way. He might be a grump, but he was their grump. And knowing that made him feel better about himself than even ten plates of amazing scones could hope to manage.


	54. Flora & Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Tony has hurt himself while his sister isn't around to help. But thankfully, another person comes to his rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set about a year post-PL3.

Tony was a big, tough teenager who definitely did not cry. Because crying was for little kids, right? None of the Black Ravens ever cried (at least not that Tony could remember), so there was no way that he was going to cry. People would think he's just a baby if he cried.

...But all the same, at fourteen, he didn't feel like he was that much of a teenager. Still mostly a kid, if he was entirely honest. And he wasn't even that big, either. These days even Sean was starting to catch up on him, which really wasn't fair. Tony just knew that he was going to have a growth spurt one of these days. However, until he did, he wasn't big and he was barely a teenager.

As for tough, well, he didn't feel very tough at all after tripping up the steps that led to Mr. Layton's house. He just felt shaky. And he could even see some blood blossoming from the newly-formed graze on his knee.

The worst part was that Arianna wasn't even there. He could deal with anything as long as his sister was with him, because they looked out for each other. Tony was certain that had Arianna been at his side, he'd already be brushing the whole thing off like it was no big deal.

Arianna was not there, though. She was somewhere else in London, catching up with Luke, while Tony waited here at the Professor's house. Because he was a nice boy and knew that his sister needed time to talk to Luke while he was back from America for a short visit. Tony wanted to see Luke as well, of course, and had been promised that they'd all spend time together that evening. But Arianna was especially fond of Luke. She missed him a lot and Tony knew that she did. So he didn't begrudge the two of them spending time without him.

Except maybe he did a little, because that meant they wouldn't be back for maybe hours and he'd have to deal with his cut knee all by himself.

Upon that realisation, even Tony could feel himself start to bubble. He narrowed his eyes and scrunched up his face in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing down.

"Oh dear, are you all right?"

A young girl in pretty ribbons and an orange dress came bounding down the steps towards him. She was Mr. Layton's daughter, Flora, Tony had been told. When they'd arrived at the house earlier, she'd been busy cooking, so Tony hadn't had a chance to talk to her before now.

It didn't take a moment for Flora to kneel down and inspect the injury, a serious frown across her face.

"That does look very bad. A nasty cut, if I do say so myself," she observed, "I've been telling the Professor those steps are dangerous for a while now, but he just doesn't listen. Never mind though, we need to get that bandaged up."

She sounded like she was exaggerating how bad it was to make him feel better. And Tony knew this because it's exactly what Arianna would have done. But since it did indeed make him feel better, he didn't do anything more than sniff and nod.

"Okay..." he whimpered.

"Let's get inside, I've got some nice bandages in the drawer. They've got little duckies on, so I hope you don't mind," Flora chattered, helping him up from the steps and holding his hand to walk him into the house.

"I don't mind, I like ducks," mumbled Tony, as if he was making the most shocking revelation of the century.

"Me too. But then again, who doesn't like ducks? They'd have to have encountered some very rude ducks to not like them, I imagine. And Luke tells me that ducks value themselves on their good manners, even when they're asking for bread," Flora went on, as she hunted through the drawers for bandages.

"Um, I've never met a rude duck," Tony replied.

He was giggling now. Even though he suspected that Flora was just saying this silly stuff to cheer him up. It was nice of her. She seemed like a good person, just like Luke had told them.

"Then that makes two of us," concluded Flora, pulling a strip of duck-patterned bandages from somewhere in the depths of the drawer, "Now stand very still, this will only take a moment."

Tony stood as still as he possibly could as Flora wrapped the bandage around his knee. He felt much better now. Even if the graze wasn't actually that bad and even if he might not be a big, tough teenager just yet, he was still happy that a cool person like Flora would let him wear a duckie bandage.

Maybe Arianna and Luke would have tons to tell him about their day out in London, but as far as Tony's concerned, his misadventure in the Layton house was much better than any of that. Wait until they hear how brave he was for only crying a little bit and how Flora had rushed to his rescue. Maybe Arianna would be so impressed that she'd want to be big sister friends with Flora and then Tony could have two big sisters to play with.

...Or maybe his imagination was just getting away with him again. But all the same, Tony spent the rest of the afternoon waiting eagerly by the window for the two of them to get back.


	55. Chelmey & Barton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A funeral is never a good time to be making friends, but this one causes Chelmey to stumble into a life-long friendship quite by accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime before Chelmey becomes an inspector.

In general, Chelmey didn't do funerals if he could avoid it. Not because he didn't grieve the dead in his own way, but because he was such a gruff and uncomfortable person that he didn't always get his feelings across the right way at them. Others often thought of him as insensitive, so he preferred to pay his own silent respects to those who had passed on without being surrounded by a crowd of other people.

Today, however, he couldn't care less what anyone thought of him. Because there's no way he wasn't going to attend Inspector Gilbert's funeral. Especially after the man had done so much for him.

So he'd scrubbed himself up the best he could and made his way to the church at least an hour early, just to be sure that everything went well. You could never be too careful.

To describe the atmosphere as sombre would be a waste of words to Chelmey – because what else could it be? Gilbert had been a great man who had died far too soon. It was such a harsh blow to Scotland Yard, and to Chelmey, for him to be taken away when he was. And many people had come to the service that day because of it, probably close to two hundred, Chelmey reckoned.

But none of them sniffed quite as loudly as the stout man at the front. Gilbert's son, Barton.

Chelmey had met him a few times before and knew that he was working hard to become an officer himself. Although he lacked Gilbert's flare. And ability. Which might be horrible, but Chelmey had to admit it was true. On the upside, he certainly had inherited his father's passion for keeping people safe, a trait that Chelmey admired.

Right now, the poor fellow wasn't feeling very passionate about anything though, sobbing into a handkerchief on the front row.

He had to talk to him, Chelmey knew that he did. There was no way that he couldn't, given that Chelmey had been the one who held Gilbert in his death. But he had been dreading seeing Barton all morning. The weight sat heavy in his stomach and he continued to put it off until much later on in the ceremony, once poor Gilbert had been laid to rest in the earth.

It seemed that Chelmey wasn't the only one giving Barton distance, as he found him sat alone at one of the tables, staring at his own feet. Probably everyone felt too terrible and didn't know what to say. Not that Chelmey did either, but he lurched over to the table all the same.

"Afternoon, Constable," Chelmey grumbled.

Barton jumped with a start, glancing up at Chelmey. Suddenly he was fiddling with his hands as if he was about to sit the most difficult exam of his life; "A-ah, afternoon, Constable Chelmey! It's an, um, an honour to have you talking t-to me!"

"An honour?" Chelmey checked, rubbing the ringing of Barton's nervous yells from his ears, "I'm surprised you'd say that about me."

"Why wouldn't I? You're a highly respected officer of the good Yard," reminded Barton, looking mildly confused.

"Well, I... that is your father and I, we were working together when he... when, you know what happened," Chelmey awkwardly muttered, "In fact, it was down to my poor decision-making that he-"

"Please don't say anything like that, sir!" Barton was on his feet and pointing a firm finger up at Chelmey. It was enough to make him recoil with surprise; "What happened was not your fault. You're a fine Constable and my father had only kind words to say about you. I'm sure that if he... if he were here right now, then he'd be agreeing with me."

"Yeah, well..."

...What could he even follow that up with? Chelmey certainly didn't feel like a fine anything – not a constable and certainly not the inspector that he was tipped-off to be becoming. No doubt Gilbert would agree with his son, but ol' Gilbert was a soft-touch, even if he was the best on the force.

"Sorry if I spoke out of line..." Barton trailed off, "But I am glad that you came here today."

"After Gilbert did so much for me, it was the least I could do," Chelmey assured him.

"He... did a lot for me, too..." replied Barton, staring down at his feet again.

Chelmey couldn't just leave the conversation on that. He felt more than just bad for Barton, he felt whole-heartedly responsible.

"And you're going to be doing a lot for other people, aren't you, Constable?" he reminded, "When I become an Inspector, I expect to see you at the forefront of the Yard, keeping this good country a safe place to be in."

Quite unexpectedly, Barton saluted him. It was almost enough to make Chelmey embarrassed.

"I will do my duty, as my father did, sir!" promised Barton.

"Ah... that's wonderful to hear, Barton. But you should save that sort of talk for in the office," Chelmey replied, trying not to pay attention to the people who had started to stare at them.

"As you wish, sir," Barton deflated, though he still looked considerably more cheerful than he had done to start with, "Now may I be dismissed to stop my cousins from clearing off the buffet table, sir?"

"You can do as you wish. I'm not your superior yet," grumbled Chelmey.

"No, sir, but you will be, sir," assured Barton, before darting off into the crowd.

Chelmey watched him go, trying to make sense of what just happened. That Barton was an interesting fellow, that was for sure. But he was every bit as bright and positive as his father had been, with just as much potential. So Chelmey silently vowed to protect him at all costs. As his duty to good old Gilbert.


	56. Crow/Badger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Badger had grown weary that his restlessness prevented him from being happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set several years post-canon, when they're both adults.

"It ain't you, it's 'ere. But I know yer realleh need this place, so I'm goin' t' go away fer a while."

That had been what Badger had told Crow one morning, three months ago, when he'd got ready to leave Southampton. And, if he was honest, part of him had secretly hoped that Crow would come as well. That he'd drop everything, close the shop and come travelling with Badger.

But he knew that would never be the case. Because Crow really did need the stability that the shop provided. He liked the safety and security of knowing where he lived and where his next meal was coming from. And for a long time, Badger tried to be like that as well, but in the end it had done him more harm than good.

Because Badger didn't feel secure, he felt tied down. He wanted to see more of the world than Misthallery or a tiny shop in Southampton could provide. So, after a long time of practising the speech in his head, Badger eventually told Crow that he wasn't going to stay with him. At least not right now.

It's funny how things had changed for them. In their youth, Crow had been the one who'd wanted to get out of Misthallery as fast as he could, whereas Badger was terrified that leaving might cause him to lose the precious friendships he had made there. However, as the years went on, they'd both realised something about themselves – that the world is too big of a playing field for Crow and that Badger could travel it five times around without losing anything he held dear. Essentially, they'd swapped feelings on the matter.

Maybe Crow hadn't caught onto this as quickly as Badger had. He probably thought that he was doing them both a lot of good by making them a home and had certainly invested a lot of hard-earned cash into doing so. It was possible that he thought that Badger wanted to leave because he hated him...

No, don't think like that. Crow had been understanding on the day Badger had left. Quiet, but definitely understanding.

They hadn't kept in contact since then. Neither by writing nor phone. Badger didn't stay in the same place long enough for writing and phone calls made him nervous, so he didn't even try.

At first he'd felt better in himself than he had done for a while. With the shackles that held him to the shop removed, he would hike across hills and roads with a spring in his step. And he found some kind of strange thrill out of not knowing where he would be at the end of each day or even how he'd get there.

All he'd taken with him was a small pack of supplies and his guitar. The latter had proven more useful than the former, since his own food ran out quickly and he'd relied on busking to make some spare change here and there.

Truly this is the life that Badger wanted for himself.

Over time, however, he had come to miss Crow. Once the excitement had worn off, he'd spent many a night camping just thinking about Crow back in the shop. Which was when the worry had set in. What if Crow thought Badger hated him? Or if Crow himself hated Badger for leaving? What if he was struggling to run the shop on his own? What if... what if he'd found another person who was better than Badger to stand by his side? Someone who was more like Crow himself and had the same values.

It was hard for Badger to enjoy his travels anymore, with those thoughts weighing on his mind. They made him feel sick, but at the same time he still felt compelled to travel further. It was like a grand conflict between his stomach and his legs. His heart couldn't get involved in the discussion, because that was equally torn between Crow and travelling.

So he'd wandered around for three months before deciding that he couldn't stand not knowing any longer. If Crow did hate him or had moved on from him, then finding out would be a better way of dealing with that than wandering about, never knowing for sure.

He'd got a train down to Southampton as soon as he could. The hilly north slowly becoming the flatter fields of the south as the train sped down the country. It was strange, really. Badger had always seen himself as a northern lad, but something about coming back down this way felt comforting for him. It was as if he might have been born in Manchester, but Southampton was his home, whether he liked it or not.

And the more he thought of home, the more he thought of the warm, cosy house that was back there. It might be a small house with an equally small shop out the front, but it was theirs. They had saved for it and no one could take it away from them. And there would be Crow, working all day, because he didn't know how to stop. But in the evening, Badger would drag him away so they could eat a selection of Morrison's finest own brands, while watching some rubbish on their tiny TV. Maybe it had felt like a prison for a while, but now he was coming back to it he realised how much he'd missed it.

When he got off the train, he was greeted by familiar streets, familiar faces saying hello and the ever so familiar smell of the salty, sea air. It made him feel good, at least until his stomach reminded him why he was here. That as nice as all of this was, it didn't guarantee how anything was going with Crow.

Once he'd made his way back to the shop on the harbour, he felt positively ill with anticipation. Even opting to go through the shop door, instead of the door around the side that led into the house itself. He didn't feel like he was part of that house right now, so he didn't deserve the side door.

"Crow?" he whispered, peeking around into the shop.

And there he was, sat at the counter, sorting through a box of junk. He looked up and they stared at each other for a moment, Crow's visible eye growing wide in surprise. It was too much. Badger nearly bolted away, but Crow was faster. The shorter man darting around the counter and over to grab Badger in a tight hug.

"Badge'! Ya back, Badge'! I didn't know if..." Crow's words trailed off, as the tears began. Oh dear, Crow was crying and it was all Badger's fault.

But Badger knew what to do, resting his head on top of Crow's and rocking them both gently from side to side.

"Didn't think I'd leave yer f'ever, did yer?" he asked, his voice a weak chuckle that also promised tears.

"No, I... well, perhaps a little..." confessed Crow.

"Couldn't stay away from my Crowlo fer long," assured Badger, "Missed you too much."

Crow wiped his eyes and looked up at him; "Maybe so, but this ain't it, right? Ya ain't gonna stay 'ere always?"

"Well..." Badger admitted. He let that hang in the air, so it would say all that it needed to.

"It's all right," soothed Crow, "At first I thought it was me. That ya 'ated bein' 'ere an' that as long as I wanted to be 'ere, we could never be 'appy togethah. But then I realised that wasn't right. That ya just needed to be away sometime an' other times... ya..."

"Other times I need you," Badger finished, "An' yeah, yer right. I can't tell you 'ow 'appy I was t' be away from this place at first. But afteh a while I couldn't think about owt else but you an' 'ere. I think I might onleh eveh feel like I belong with one or the otheh fer a little while."

"An' that's fine, ya can 'ave that," Crow promised, "Ya can wake up one mornin' an' leave for as long as ya want, just as long as I can be sure ya gonna come back some day."

"I'll always come back fer you. I promise," Badger answered.

And just like that, all the months of worrying melted away. Badger had discovered he could have both worlds and switch between them, because each respected that he needed the other just as much. His love for Crow and his love for travelling were both equal, not battling for superiority against each other.

So from then onwards, Badger would help run the shop sometimes and travel the world other times. His patterns were generally inconsistent and depended on his feelings. But he would always, without fail, come back to Crow in the winter. The migrating Badger, they'd call him. Always travels south for the winter.


	57. Randall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young farmer learns of sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime after the flashbacks in Miracle Mask, but long before the "current day" plot.

There was a young farmer called Lando. A fit, healthy man who was respected far and wide by all, because of how hard he worked each day on Tannenbaum's farm. Truly, Lando was an asset to the farm and to Craggy Dale itself.

Lando knew that he owed a great deal to the people around him, who had taken him in as one of their own when he'd washed up on their shores one day. He had no memory of where he came from or how he'd gotten there, but that had never mattered. Tannenbaum cared for him like a father would and the people took to him right away.

He worked on the land because he felt that was how he could repay them for their kindness and also because doing so made him happy. It felt better to eat the food knowing that he had helped to grow it.

The name Lando was nothing special. He'd come to them without one and everyone had seemed reluctant to give him a new title. Until one day, a girl no older than four had said she thought he looked like a Lando. So he'd smiled and said that if she thought he was Lando, then Lando was his name.

From then on he'd been Lando, a proud resident of Craggy Dale, who knew there was no more joy in life than the joy he'd found here. Every day he worked and smiled and loved and laughed.

Until one day, when out on the fields, he heard a voice calling out.

"Randall! Randall, get back here, confound you!"

His head jolted up and he looked in the direction of the noise. There he saw a lanky man dressed in a dapper green suit, chasing after a dog. In the distance, he could just make out a woman laughing at him.

"Let him be, Liam! Randall will come back when he's ready. He always does," the woman called over to the man.

"But he'll be dirty and I'll have to wash him. Honestly, that creature has no self-respect, Sharon," replied the man called Liam.

Sharon hurried over to him, carrying the hem of her dress so that it wouldn't brush against the soil. Once they were together, she let go of the hem and the two of them embraced.

"That's because you're so soft with him. He knows he can get away with anything as far as you're concerned," Sharon scolded.

"As if you're any better," chuckled Liam.

Sure enough, once he was no longer the centre of attention, the dog bounded over and started yapping around the couple. Just as muddy as Liam had expected him to be.

"That's enough play for one day. I think we should get you home now, Randall," cooed Sharon, kneeling down to put the dog back on his lead.

The three of them walked away, having no idea that Lando had been watching them. In the same sense, Lando had no reason to believe that a couple walking their dog was of any importance or even a rare sight to see out on the fields.

But for the first time since he'd arrived in Craggy Dale, the young farmer found stray tears creeping down his face. Truly, he was experiencing sadness for the first time.


	58. Bloom & Hannah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloom & Hannah bring out the best and worst in each other, even if the road is a bumpy one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime post-PL6.

Bloom panted heavily as he rounded the corner and slipped between a thin gap in a fence leading into an abandoned garden. He was worn, his suit was ruined and this was merely the start of the evening. More out of habit than anything else, he began to run his hands through his hair, in a fruitless battle to smooth it down.

He'd needed a few moments to get his breath back, but his pursuer would not allow him this. Almost as soon as he started to consider running again, she pushed her way through the fence, adjusting her hat, but otherwise looking no worse for the wear.

Hannah frowned as Bloom glared at her. She was not fazed by his annoyance, but it did cause her to become rather annoyed herself.

"Is there really any need?" she asked.

"You keep doing this," Bloom hissed, "I've told you before – I can't be found by Scotland Yard."

"I thought you told me they let you go on account of how useful you were," Hannah haughtily countered.

"Yes, but that isn't something you can explain to Grosky. The Yard might be corrupt, but he's single-minded in regards to those he views as criminal," Bloom clarified, "If you keep insisting on putting me in harm's way by pursuing him, then I'm sorry to say our partnership is over."

Hannah tutted; "I don't believe you're sorry at all."

"I work faster without supervision," he agreed.

"And you also work more dangerously. Don't think I don't know of the extents you'll go to so that you can carry out your goals. Justice is one thing, but there are wrong ways to go about it," Hannah retorted.

"At the end of the day, all that matters is results. If you really care about how those results are achieved, then Grosky is just a few streets away. You can go back to following him," Bloom instructed. He wasn't going to let his methods be questioned by someone who had been an accomplice to many of them in the past.

"Chasing Grosky... isn't good for me," Hannah sighed.

She hated to admit it, but she knew it was true. Grosky was a perfect man in her eyes and everything she'd always wanted, but he was also not hers and never would be. He was in love with the Yard and in love with justice. Besides, he had a life away from Hannah that she couldn't impose on. She hadn't even known he'd had a wife until... until that day. Then she'd been forced to realise that Grosky could never be with her, for all she loved him. It didn't stop her from loving him, but now the only way she could do that was by helping him from behind the curtains. Even if that meant controlling Bloom. The weasel of a man served as a good distraction from her other worries, if nothing else.

"Then don't keep dragging me in his direction," snapped Bloom, breaking her free from her thoughts, "If we are going to work together, then I can't spend half of that time running from him."

"Perhaps he would help, if we talked to him," Hannah suggested.

"No."

And that was the end of that, at least as far as Bloom was concerned. He stormed away across the empty garden, knowing that Hannah would keep up.

"You really are such a mule," Hannah growled, following him through the gate at the other side of the fence, "I'd heard you were such a charming and promising person when you were at Scotland Yard."

"That's because I was _acting_ when I was at Scotland Yard," reminded Bloom, "At least as far as charming goes. I am promising."

"And certainly full of yourself," Hannah added, feeling it needed to be said.

"You need confidence to get by in this line of work. That's why you manage it so well, Hannah," Bloom dismissed.

"I'd almost take that as a compliment," she replied.

"Take it however you want, I was merely stating facts," Bloom answered, with shrug.

"Then while we're stating facts, I'll give you a few that I've observed. You're scared of Grosky. You're scared of the law. But most of all, you're scared of Targent. Which is why you've edged around taking on any jobs that involve finding them," Hannah shot. She almost felt satisfied that each blow seemed to cause Bloom to flinch.

"Yes."

That was all Bloom needed to say. He wasn't about to argue any of those points, when they both knew they were true.

"Which means you're not promising, you're a cowardly man. But you could be promising if you weren't so scared," Hannah reasoned, "Which is why I think we should look into Targe-"

"No!"

"You're not the only one making the decisions in this partnership, Former-Detective Inspector Bloom! We are going to take on the Targent case and we are going to find them, so that we can put a stop to them and everyone can live in peace! Including you, if you so choose," snapped Hannah.

Bloom turned to look at her. They stared into each other's eyes for about a minute, both looking angry and driven, but neither backing down. At least not until Bloom decided that Hannah had a stronger resolve than he did.

"Fine."

He'd given in. There truly was no arguing with Hannah.

"Good! Then let's get going. We've wasted enough time on your little sulk here," instructed Hannah, marching ahead of him.

"You missed one thing out of your list, by the way," Bloom commented, following along behind her.

"Oh, and that would be?"

"I might be scared of the law and of Targent, but I'm absolutely terrified of you."

Hannah's face broke into a sharp smile.

"Well, I wouldn't have it any other way, Former-Detective Inspector."


	59. Crow/Badger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Ravens need to prepare for their most important day of the year, but Crow can't stop himself from being distracted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set several years post-PL4.

Crow was a very busy person with a lot to do and that had been the constant state of his existence for as far back as he could remember. Particularly as far back as when he'd first formed the Black Ravens, a group of children who run an underground black market.

Only they weren't children any more. They didn't think they were, anyway. Though for all the respect they got, they might as well be. The snide attitude they received from adults in the area being exactly the reason they'd continued to don the Black Raven disguise long into their teenage years. Because people didn't know who the mysterious figure was and that confusion was enough of a veil to grant them the respect they deserved.

But such a large feat as running a black market certainly took a lot of work, especially when nine people are involved. And while the work was shared out between all of them, as the leader, Crow had the most to do of them all. At least he felt like he did. His days were filled with making meticulous records of the stock, everything they had sold, every person they'd sold it to and all those other details that help their work run smoothly. While his nights were filled with fronting the auctions they held underground, because he was good at working a crowd and liked the sound of his own voice. In between, he'd check on everyone else's work like a clucking hen and occasionally he'd get to run around the rooftops as the Black Raven. He enjoyed the rush.

All of this meant that he didn't have time left over for much else, something that had caused his friends a lot of worries in their early years of doing this. But over time, it became apparent that Crow did this because he enjoyed it, not because he felt that he had to. And once he had realised he'd been worrying the others, Crow made more of an effort to be involved in hanging out with them again – going to sleepovers, taking days off to play about the old mine or the woods. All the little things that remind the group that they're friends first and foremost.

Even at such a young age, Crow felt that his life was very full and he did not have time for anything else that fell outside of this little bubble they'd created.

Which is why he regarded the recent distractions he'd brought upon himself with more than a little annoyance.

It had started out innocently enough – with Crow doing his usual afternoon checks on all the Black Ravens. They'd been having something of a slow day, so it wasn't with much optimism that he'd gone to ask Badger if he'd seen anything from his lookout.

When he got there, Crow couldn't see Badger at the post and assumed maybe he'd gotten bored and gone for a break or to take a leak or something. Given how quiet they'd been, Crow could hardly blame him, but this still felt unlike Badger. The lanky lad was usually diligent in staying at his spot unless he was told to be somewhere else. So much so that sometimes Socket would come along to poke some light-hearted fun at poor Badger and Crow would have to tell him off.

The idea of Badger disappearing was so unusual that Crow had to make doubly-sure that he wasn't there. So he climbed the ladder, becoming increasingly aware that there was a noise above, making the wooden boards creak slightly. He panicked a little and hurried, hoping nothing had happened to Badger.

Though it turned out his worries were for nought, as Badger was indeed up on the lookout, doing some push-ups. He'd been so low down that Crow hadn't seen him when he approached and Crow instantly felt silly for worrying as much as he had.

Not as much so as Badger seemed to, however, because as soon as noticed Crow was there, Badger scrambled up into a sitting position, apologising hastily, despite there not being anything that he needed to apologise for, and explaining that he just did this sometimes to keep in shape for all the running he had to do as the Black Raven.

Crow spent the next few minutes assuring him that he'd done nothing wrong and everything was fine. Once they'd got that sorted, the two of them departed quite awkwardly, so Crow could get on with his tasks for the rest of the day.

Only this hadn't been as easy as Crow had hoped it would be, because for some reason, his mind kept trailing back to Badger's push-ups and he couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as if he didn't already know that Badger did a lot of exercising to keep in good running shape and catching him doing just that shouldn't be anything unusual. But for some reason, his mind kept replaying those few moments he'd seen of the push-ups before Badger had scrambled up. And the more he tried to get it out of his head, the more it kept coming back.

By the time he was sat at his writing desk, Crow had to admit that he couldn't even remember how the rest of his afternoon checks had gone, since he'd been that distracted. Even his stock records weren't going as well as they usually did, with him reading the same lines over and over without taking them in. Thank goodness he didn't have an auction to deal with that night.

He'd eventually gone to bed assuring himself that by tomorrow, whatever strange distraction Badger's push-ups had been causing him would be long out of his mind.

This ended up not being the case at all.

In the weeks that followed, Crow was increasingly noticing little things about Badger that he never paid attention to in the past. The way Badger walked, how he held himself, the nervous quiver of his lips that contradicted the confidence of his long, skinny legs. These were all details that Crow knew he should not be paying attention to, yet he still found them on his mind all the same.

He'd tried to shut himself away with his usual written work, so he could block it out, but even that didn't stop his mind from wandering back to his friend.

And since Crow was bright, it didn't take him long to figure out why...

This realisation caused him more annoyance than anything else. Not because of Badger himself, but because Crow knew that there was no time for uncomfortable feelings like this. Crow was busy enough balancing his work and spending times with his friends, without an unwanted distraction like this hanging over his head no matter what he was doing.

No, he'd just have to hope that this would pass in time and that everything would go back to how it had been before.

But until it did go away, assuming it would do at all, Crow found himself slipping up on his other duties. Especially ones that fell out of the usual routine, since he could do most of his regular jobs on auto-pilot if he really had to.

It hit home when Marilyn came to visit him in the store room one day, with an amused in-the-know grin playing about her face.

"The others all think you've forgotten, Crow, so I'm checking up on you. Mostly to stop them from worrying," she explained.

"Forgotten...?" Crow echoed. He had to admit that whatever Marilyn was referring to wasn't springing to mind.

She chuckled, "So you have forgotten! I thought you might have, with how much you've been off in your own little world lately. Good thing I came to see you a week ahead of time or the poor Black Ravens might not have been able to celebrate their anniversary."

Crow could have slapped himself.

How could he forget the most important day in the world to him? Even more so than Christmas or Bonfire Night or Easter or any of that other tosh! Their own little day, when the Black Ravens would come together to commemorate when they first became friends and decided to open the black market.

"Aw no... I-I didn't forget! Not really... Okay, maybe I did a little bit, but I mean-"

"Shh, it's fine," Marilyn cut in, trying her best to hold in the laughter, "I know you've been a bit distracted lately. So I just figured it'd be a good idea to give you a nudge about it. Not much time to make any plans if you want to do something big for it, though."

"As much as I 'ate to say it, we might 'afta settle for a small party this year," agreed Crow, "Maybe we could 'ave a sleepovah at Wren an' Socket's, if their mum'll let us."

"Or maybe it'd be better to have it in the auction room," Marilyn steered, "More room, for a start. And we won't have their mum checking up on us every few minutes. You know how embarrassed Socket gets by that."

"Yeah, I reckon ya right there. Plus, we won't get in trouble if our party gets propah wild. Do ya mind passin' on the message that we'll be 'avin' it 'ere? Then I can work out the details," Crow asked.

"Right you are," replied Marilyn, "But Crow... if you get too distracted, you can always talk to me about it. I know that maybe Louis would poke fun and Roddy probably has a bit too much on his plate already for you to want to talk to them, but I am here for you. Just like we all are."

"Thanks, Mal. I'll keep that in mind..." mumbled Crow.

Though he knew that his current problem wasn't one he could talk about to the others. At least not without putting their friendships at risk.

"I'm sure Badger will understand as well," hummed Marilyn.

"W-wot do ya mean by that...!" Crow barked.

But Marilyn was already headed out of the storeroom. They both knew that she'd heard him, but her point had been made and no further discussion would make any difference to that.

So she knew that... that... well, she knew what Crow knew. And maybe the others knew as well. Although Marilyn was pretty sharp, so it wouldn't surprise Crow if she was the only one who'd figured out exactly why he's been distracted. Not that this thought stopped Crow from being paranoid about the whole thing for the rest of the day.

The one advantage to all this being that his planning and preparation for the Black Ravens' anniversary kept him busy enough to not have to deal with it for a little while. In the days leading up to their sleepover in the auction room, Crow somehow managed to put Badger to the back of his mind, so he could sort of the food, decorate the room, rearrange auctions and try not to spend more than they could afford. He worked at all this with a sort of furious determination, to the point that on the night before Roddy literally had to send him home.

"But Rod, it ain't ready yet!" Crow protested.

Roddy glared at him; "It'll all be done by tomorrow. We'll make sure of it. You're not the only one in this group, Crow. But you are the only one with bags so far under your eyes that I'm surprised you haven't tripped up over them."

There was no arguing with Roddy. Once he'd set his mind on something, that was that. On a better day, Crow might've tried to butt heads with him, but right now he was too tired. Which only served to prove Roddy's point.

Reluctantly, Crow slipped out of the underground base and started making his way back home.

On the way there, Crow's eyes darted from side to side as they would do if he was making one of his afternoon checks on the others. It was more out of habit than anything else, but doing this was what caused him to notice something hunched up on the lookout.

As he drew closer, Crow saw that it was Badger. He climbed up to join him, curious about what he was doing there so long after most other people had gone home for the night. His friend had his head lowered, but just under his mop of hair Crow could see his lips moving as if he was reciting something.

"Ya all right, Badge'?" Crow checked.

Badger almost jumped out of his skin with surprise and Crow instantly felt bad for interrupting whatever he was doing.

"...Huh! Y-yes, I'm fine... Sorreh to um... sorreh..." stammered Badger, just trailing off when he realised there wasn't anything to follow up this particular "sorry" with.

"Don't worry about it," Crow soothed, as he scooted over and sat down next to him, "I just saw ya up 'ere an' was wonderin' why ya 'adn't 'eaded 'ome for the night."

He watched as Badger fidgeted nervously where he sat, his friend taking a few moments before he replied, "There's no reason fer me t' rush 'ome, Crowlo. I were just... eh, practisin' while I got some time on me own."

"Practisin' for wot?" pressed Crow.

"Fer... you know, um, th-that speech that one o' us does each year...?" Badger answered. He was staring down at the wooden panels so that he didn't have to look at Crow.

"Yeah, I know. Are ya doin' it this year?" check Crow.

He was genuinely surprised to hear this was the case. The speech in question had begun as nothing special – simply Crow getting up during the parties to talk about how proud they should all be of everything they'd done. But over time it had become A Thing, to the point that the others would jokingly point out that Crow shouldn't be the only one allowed to do it. Crow had responded to this completely seriously, saying that the others were right and whoever did the speech should be the person who wanted to do it.

Over the time they'd been together, most of the Black Ravens had a turn saying their bit about why they were happy to be here with friends, doing all of this. Never once had Badger done a speech, though.

The shy northern boy wasn't very good at words, getting easily tongue-tied when talking to new people. Around his friends he was usually fine, but doing something as big as a speech just wasn't for Badger. No one had ever pressured him into doing it, because they knew he wouldn't feel comfortable about it.

"I am... yeah..." Badger confirmed, clearly embarrassed, "Figured that I should... 'cause everyone else is always sayin' 'ow much this all means to 'em. An' it means a lot t' me, as well. So their words made me think that I should tell 'em in me own words. Onleh... I can't figure out what me own words are."

"That's propah nice, Badge'..." Crow whispered.

He looked across at Badger for a few moments, wondering how he must feel. It was a dark enough night that he couldn't make out too much, beyond the thoughtful frown his face seemed to be set in. All the same though, Crow could practically feel the discomfort radiating from him.

Swallowing his own nerves, Crow reached out a hand to put on Badger's shoulder. He felt Badger tense slightly at the contact, but he settled a moment later.

"I know ya gonna be fine," assured Crow, "It might not be the easiest thing to do, but it'll come."

"Easy fer you to say," snorted Badger, "You give grand talks at the drop o' a hat. It's what you do fer a livin'. Heck, you just open your mouth an' big words come out. I bet you doun't even plan 'em. While with me, well, most o' the time I can't even say 'ello without wantin' to run off..."

As guilty as he felt, Crow had to admit that Badger was right about that. He tried to search his mind for some advice he could give, but it was hard. Because a lot of his speeches were indeed improvised. Not all of them, but after years of talking to an audience, you sort of just knew inside what to say. Crow had never been in Badger's situation – he'd been fortunate enough to always have a great deal of confidence. Talking came naturally to him most of the time. Except when it came to... the matter that's been on his mind lately, but that fell under the category of _'subjects to not be talked about right now'._ For the most part, Crow knew what to talk about, when to talk about it and how to deliver his speeches.

Because of that, he shouldn't have been having as much of a struggle coming up with advice for Badger as he was.

"Maybe it might 'elp is ya break it down," he offered, after a pause, "It must be a massive deal thinkin' about talkin' to nine people. But don't think about that part. Think about each person in turn an' forget all the others. Think about what ya wanna say to each of 'em, wot it is about that person that makes ya 'appy to work with 'em everyday. Then talk as if ya were talkin' to just that person, only keep it vague. Aftah that, ya can go on to talk about the next one an' the next. Until before ya know it, ya will 'ave given an 'ole speech an' it won't feel like a big deal. It's all about breakin' the biggah problem into smallah ones ya can manage."

"That's a load o' rubbish, Crow," dismissed Badger. He sounded genuinely amused though, enough so that Crow could hope he'd helped him get away from his nerves for just a moment.

"No it ain't! That's well good advice, that is!" Crow mock-argued, "Why don't ya try it on me now? Just look at me an' say wot it is about me that makes ya glad to be a Black Raven."

This was clearly a mistake. One that Crow didn't realise until after it had already come out of his mouth. Badger clammed up completely again, making a noise that sounded almost like a squeak, before jamming his mouth shut. He then stared up at Crow, the two of them looking as uncomfortable about this as each other.

Having to face Badger's gaze made the hairs prickle on the back of Crow's neck. All of what he'd been trying to avoid thinking about these past few weeks had come back with an intensity like never before, combined with this new sort of fear that Crow had never experienced.

He opened his mouth. His intent was to explain to Badger that this had been a bad suggestion and he didn't have to do it. But for a rare moment, Crow was the one stuck not knowing what to say.

And then Badger grinned.

"You are a total pillock, Crowlo. You know that?" he checked.

The complete terror of the moments gone by were replaced with indignity, which Crow found was a lot more up his street to deal with.

"Ya think so? Is that wot it is about me that makes ya glad to be a Black Raven?" pressed Crow.

Badger got to his feet. He put a hand on Crow's shoulder to help himself up, but then walked past the stout leader without meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, it is," Badger concluded, before he hopped onto the ladder.

"There ya go then, just say that in ya speech," jeered Crow.

He didn't get a reply to that. Instead Badger just held up a hand to wave goodbye to him, clearly about to head off home.

"I'm lookin' forward to it!" Crow called after. He was perhaps louder than he should have been, given that most other people in the nearby houses would be asleep by now. But for the moment, he didn't care.

That talk left Crow feeling a strange sort of rush. He practically skipped home after that, distracted by failed attempts to make sense of everything that had just happened. Part of him felt happy that the talk seemed to make Badger feel more confident than Crow had seen him in a while, but at the same time, he also felt embarrassed at the awful advice he'd given Badger and a little bit scared of Badger's stern stare, which came back to his mind too frequently. Overall, he felt a gleeful sort of terror. It was hard to explain.

The glow of their conversation stayed with Crow until the next morning. The morning of the Black Ravens' anniversary. At which point, it all seemed to crumble in on itself and remind him that he had far, far too much to do to be getting lost in a talk that surely didn't mean as much to Badger as it did to him. Because Badger had no reason to get all caught up in confusing feelings like Crow was.

Crow cursed himself. He could have spent the time he was lying in bed last night thinking about how to finish off getting ready for tonight, but instead the anniversary preparations hadn't even entered his head in comparison to over-analysing a passing talk with Badger.

He got himself so worked up that he even skipped breakfast, something that surprised his mum even more than him. Instead he hastily promised that he'd get lots to eat later, before he rushed out of the door and back over to the underground base.

It felt almost stingingly disappointing when he arrived, only to find that the others had all but finished the decorating without him.

"Sorry Crow, but it was finished after you left last night," Louis informed, "Marilyn said you've been both working too hard and away with the fairies this week, which isn't a great combination, like. So at least now you can just do one but not the other."

"I 'aven't been away with the fairies," Crow huffed, "But all right. I do appreciate the lotta ya getting' this done. At least now we can all relax 'til the food needs to be 'ere."

Though Crow spent the rest of the day fretting more than relaxing. He was basically pacing and looking for anything to keep his mind distracted from thoughts of Badger until it got to a sensible time to start preparing their evening buffet. And even then, he was pushing on it being too early to go get the sweets from Aunt Taffy.

"She'll not be pleased if we press our noses against the stall before the sweets are done!" Gus argued, as Crow marched ahead of him down the road.

"Maybe. But if we don't get there soon, then that North Ely lot will 'ave 'ad off with all the good stuff an' all we'll be left with is pear drops an' aniseed twists," reasoned Crow, "Need to be extra sure to get quality sweets for our special day."

"I quite like pear drops..." mumbled Gus, but he resigned to let Crow lead the way there all the same.

Crow's haste turned out to be for nothing, however, as Aunt Taffy already had some large bags of sweets put to aside for them. Gus had told her earlier in the week that their special day was approaching, as he did every year, so she made sure to be ready for it. And while he might not ever say that it was the Black Raven's special day specifically, just a day that was special to his friends, Aunt Taffy had lived around the market long enough to know what was going on. She just quietly pretended that she didn't.

Fetching the bags back took a grand total of about ten minutes. Not much time shaved off Crow's afternoon.

He left Gus to sort the different sweets out into bowls on the long table they'd put across the stage (maybe helping himself to a few vanilla fudges while he was at it) and instead headed across to Wren and Socket's place.

Out of all of the Black Ravens' families, the sibling's mum was the most in-the-know about her market kids' antics. The majority of sleepovers they had were held at her house for exactly that reason. Well, that and because everyone found their scruffy dog, Phant, to be adorable. Phant would always manage to sneak into the living room and lick faces during the nights they slept there.

So when they needed a place to do some cooking, Wren and Socket's mum had reluctantly surrendered the kitchen for their use. As Crow stepped through the door to see the flour-covered table and chocolate-splattered walls, he could definitely see why she hadn't been so keen on the idea. Phant was even licking at something that had dropped on the floor.

"No! Stop it, Phant!" scolded Socket, "I'm sure dogs ain't suppose to eat that, Wren."

"Well, she wouldn't be eating it if you could just keep the ingredients on the table in the first place," Wren seethed, through gritted teeth.

Even into their teenage years, the two of them bickered like little kids. Crow was told that this was just something siblings did and, having none of his own, just had to take their word for it. Wren and Socket looked after each other when it mattered – Wren in particular would never let anything hurt her little brother. But at the times she wasn't being protective of him, Socket brought out an almost immature side to Wren that nothing else did. Maybe this was a good thing though, since otherwise Wren could often find herself getting too buried in work and studies. She was almost as bad as Crow in that regard. As for Socket, being the youngest Black Raven certainly granted him a few liberties for his behaviour, though more often than not he'd push his luck a bit too far.

"Everythin' goin' all right?" coughed Crow, trying to subtly get their attention.

"Crow!"

Wren all but threw the mixing bowl in the air and Socket started laughing at her. She recovered from this to give him a swift glare, which quickly shut Socket up. Poor Wren always seemed a bit nervous and jumpy around Crow, but he could never figure out why.

"Everything's going great," assured Socket, once he'd recovered from Wren's scowl, "Can't you tell?"

He gestured towards a pile of lumpy scones, cooling off on a metal rack. Although actually, they might not all be scones. Some of them definitely were – Crow could spot cheese ones and fruit ones – but other things on the pile might have just been bread buns. It was hard to tell. What wasn't hard to tell was the amount of love that had gone into making these home-made treats. You'd never see stuff like this in a shop and Crow had no doubts that, while they might not look great, they would taste delicious.

"Can I try one then?" asked Crow, hand already dangling over the pile.

"Wait until tonight like everyone else!" Scocket snapped, "We can't have you eating them all as well as the dog."

"Fair enough. I actually came to see if ya needed a 'and," assured Crow. He reluctantly withdrew his own hand from above the tray.

"A hand...?" the siblings echoed, looking at each other. They were used to just working together, which is why Crow would mostly assign them jobs doing exactly that within the Black Ravens.

"I guess you can," Wren mumbled, "Don't see why not."

"Thanks Wren, I'll try not to muck it up," promised Crow, as he came around the table to help them with the current batch.

Both Wren and Socket quickly saw why Crow isn't usually invited to help with the cooking, though. The clueless boy got under their feet more than they were getting under each other's feet and he forgot about one batch they'd told him to keep an eye on, meaning that when it came out of the oven, all of the cheese twists were burnt to a crisp.

"We'll never get the smell of onions out of here now," Socket moped, "Mum's gonna go spare when she gets back."

Even Phant wasn't disappointed to see that batch of baked goods go directly into the bin.

"Look, Crow... it's not that we don't appreciate your help, but... w-well, actually, I think Scraps was trying to scrounge some ingredients from Paddy's Place. You're better with words than he is, so maybe you could help him out," suggested Wren.

Crow could tell when he wasn't wanted.

"All right, I'll go see wot I can do," replied Crow. He wasn't too keen on sticking around to ruin any more of the evening's food anyway.

As he turned to walk outside, Wren called after him.

"Crow...?"

"Yeah?"

"I-I think that... you should, um, talk to Badger... he might, well, I just think you should."

"Thanks Wren, I'm sure I'll catch 'im around."

It was hard not to feel increasingly unsettled as he headed out of the market and up towards Paddy's Place. First Marilyn and now Wren seemed to know what was up with him. Exactly how obvious had he been? It wasn't as if he'd talked about Badger much more than usual since he realised that... that he kind of liked him.

Regardless, he put this out of his mind when he reached Misthallery's favourite restaurant and pushed his way through the back door. It might have been a bit rude, but if Paddy had customers up front, then he wouldn't have wanted scruffy kids running through the main entrance. The Black Ravens were familiar with Paddy, he affectionately thought of them as an annoyance, so it wasn't unusual for one of them to sneak in this way and try to bargain for some dinner.

Scraps was already way ahead in that regard. He was stood on a small stool, cleaning dishes in a bubbly sink. Each one was coming out sparkling and you'd never be able to guess from his cleaning skills that Scraps spent most of his days searching through piles of rubbish for discarded treasures. Chances were, Paddy wouldn't have let him do much cleaning if he'd known that either.

"The ol' fella got ya workin'?" Crow enquired.

Scraps didn't look over, but he replied, "Paddy says he'll let us have what's left of today's chicken broth and any of the lamb that doesn't sell, since he can't keep this batch much longer anyway. He'll even cook it up nicely for us."

Just the thought of Paddy's lamb dishes were enough to make Crow's mouth water. Hopefully they'll get some roast potatoes and boiled vegetables to go along with them...

"Wot about Lozza?" checked Crow.

"He's got a beetroot and parsnip soup that Louis can have instead of the broth," answered Scraps, still diligently scrubbing a baking tray, "I'll see what else I can worm out of him if Louis wants more. Which he probably will."

"Fair enough. So anyway, do ya need any 'elp with them?" offered Crow.

"No."

Scraps was known for his bluntness, not for his tact.

"Come on, surely the job'll go fastah with two pairs o' 'ands," Crow pleaded.

"We both know you're only here to distract yourself because you're feeling like a loose end. If any of these plates get broken, Paddy will want us to fork out money for replacements, instead of him forking out food for us," Scraps muttered, "Go back to the market and pester Badger for a while."

"I might just do that," grumbled Crow, "But just... call us when ya need 'elp bringin' all that stuff down."

"Will do," dismissed Scraps. His tone had a finality that said conversation was over.

So the dejected Crow made a slow march back to where to came from, feeling pretty useless for all the help he hadn't managed to give Wren, Socket or Scraps. He had a strong suspicion that Gus and Roddy would be the ones Scraps would call to help him carry the food as well, since they were better at heavy lifting than he was.

Maybe he should just talk to Badger while he had the chance to do so. But the nervous northern lad had seemed so determined to get his speech ready last night and Crow couldn't offer him much more advice that didn't feel hollow. All he'd probably do is serve as a distraction, considering how on edge Badger seemed to be about the whole thing.

But regardless, he made his way to the lookout post, where not much looking out was happening at all. As he turned the corner, Crow could see Badger walking back and forward across the post, arms moving about as he mouthed some words into the air.

"Goin' well then?" Crow called, hoping not to give Badger a fright this time.

Thankfully, it seemed that Crow had been spotted as he approached. Badger walked over to the edge of the platform and smirked down at him, leaning on the railing.

"Well enough. No thanks t' you," hummed Badger. There was an air of confidence to him that only showed up rarely. Crow supposed that it must have come from spending a lot of the day talking, which was definitely unusual for Badger.

"Come on, that was great advice an' ya know it," Crow reasoned

"Maybe so, but I've still not got any more t' say about you than that you're a difficult birdie," informed Badger.

Crow blew a hair out of his face, pretending to be irritated; "Ya could always say that I chased ya around the market in a great Black Raven outfit 'til ya joined up. Then I 'elped ya outta ya shell, to become the best sprintah Mist'allery's evah known."

"Yeah, I could say that you nagged us all t' join, I s'ppose," translated Badger, "But I think we all know that alreadeh."

"That's propah mean, Badge'!" Crow whined.

"S'true though," Badger insisted.

"Ya must 'ave somethin' nice to say about me. Even just one thing," pressed Crow.

Whatever spell of confidence had briefly been cast over Badger seemed to break in that moment. He hesitated, arms quivering on the railing as he looked down at Crow. It was hard to tell, but beneath his mess of hair it seemed that his face looked slightly flushed.

Instantly feeling guilty and a bit awkward himself, Crow was about to say that Badger didn't have to answer that, but it seemed that Badger had worked up enough nerves to find something.

"...I-I wouldn't b-be Badgeh without... without you..." he whispered, so quietly that Crow only just managed to hear it.

"That's very-"

"Come on, you two!"

They were interrupted by Louis and Gus rushing over, the latter panting heavily as they drew level with Crow.

"What you both hanging around here for? Wren and Socket have, like, a million scones they need help getting into the base," Louis told them.

Typical. Crow had spent all day being turned away from jobs to do and now that he'd finally found something rather important to occupy his time with, they finally had a job for him.

The moment was well and truly past, with Badger scrambling down the ladder and making to follow the other two without so much as a glance at Crow. It was maybe for the best, because Crow felt that he couldn't meet Badger's gaze right now either. Why was all this so difficult to say...?

By the time they'd organised the baked goods on the table with the sweets, leaving enough room for the cooked food from Paddy's, they all needed to dash off to bring back the lamb, broth, soup and other mouth-watering goods. Paddy had been generous this year, but even so, probably more of them went to carry the food back than was needed.

After that had been sorted out, they all agreed that they might as well get the party started.

It was a relaxed evening, focused on just hanging out with friends and having some good food at the same time. Some years they would have a lot more extravagant celebrations, with fireworks and darting around the rooftops, but now that the tourist trade of the Golden Garden saw the black market also get a lot busier, they were all ready to just spend one day unwinding.

Crow was certainly happy to see the smiling faces of his friends as he walked around the auction hall. He couldn't ask for a better group to run the Black Ravens with.

Amongst all of the group, only Badger wasn't present in the room. He'd shut himself away in the store room, saying that he still needed time to prepare. It was hard not to feel sorry for him, knowing that he'd probably got himself so worked up over the speech. He couldn't enjoy the party like that. And worse still, if the others told him he didn't have to do it at this stage, then it'd probably make him feel like he'd failed... It was a lose-lose situation.

So all the while Crow kept an eye on the door. He was watching it when it eventually creaked open and Badger poked his head out into the room. Before he could lose his nerve and shuffle back inside again, Crow quietly started to nudge the other Black Ravens in the general direction of the stage. He hoped that it wouldn't look too much like they were pressuring Badger, but it did seem like their attention encouraged him out of the room.

Badger walked around the long table, to the front of the stage. He scratched his head nervously as the others took to some of the empty auction seats, all eyes on him.

"Um. Y-you all know I'm not great with words, like..." Badger began. He swallowed and was shaking noticeably, "An' I've spent all week practisin' a speech. It were gonna be a long one, tellin' each o' you 'ow much you mean to me... B-but I reckon you a-alreadeh know that an' I doubt me nerves would stick around that long. So I just w-wanna say that... that I were a lump o' nowt special when I first moved 'ere. No one back in Manchesteh wanted to be my friend, so I thought that I were useless. But you all showed me that I'm betteh than that. An' you made me into summit more than I were before. Even if I am still rubbish at talkin'. So thank you for believin' in me."

He was looking directly at Crow as he finished, but the moment was soon swept away in the face of everyone else clapping and cheering for him. There were some affectionate insults from Socket and a pat on the back from Louis. Clearly everyone was just as proud of Badger as Crow was, so Crow knew it was all of their time to spend with Badger. As much as part of him wanted to talk to Badger on his own...

That chance would come much later in the evening. Or maybe it was morning now. They'd all stayed up so late it was hard to tell. All Crow knew was that he was rubbing his eyes and a few of the others had dropped off a while ago. Wren and Socket were gently curled up together, Louis was snoring loudly in one of the chairs, Roddy was looking for something he could use for ear-plugs against Louis's snoring, Marilyn and Gus were packing away the leftover food from the table and Scraps appeared to be hiding under said table.

That left Crow and Badger, sat together at the back of the auction hall in a companionable silence that almost managed to negate all of the awkward feelings between them. Almost.

Crow sighed with content, breaking the quiet moment they'd been holding.

"I know everyone's already said it, but that was a propah good speech, Badge'," he praised.

A sheepish grin appeared on Badger's face; "Maybe, but I doun't think I'll be runnin' for mayor any time soon. Or even doin' the auctions. I still dunno 'ow you do all those without clammin' up."

"Some people are just good at talkin', I guess," answered Crow, "But there are some things that make me lose my words."

"Go on, tell me one," Badger challenged.

Crow looked across at him. He could already feel all of the words draining away as he did. Part of him wished he could go back to how he had been before, when he's regarded Badger with the same sort of aloof fondness that he did all of his friends. While another part of him relished in these weird new feelings. It was strange to admit that he could get use to feeling funny around Badger.

However, he still had a question to answer.

"It's not any fun if I just tell ya," Crow dismissed, going a slight shade of red, "That's somethin' ya gonna 'afta figure out for yaself, Badge'."

Badger snorted loudly.

"I were right before. You are the biggest pillock eveh, Crowlo," he confirmed.

"Maybe. But I'm your pillock, ain't I?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you are."

And, for the moment, that was all there was between the two of them that needed to be said.


	60. Layton & Aldus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layton has a chance meeting with an old friend who understands him better than he might think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a while post-PL3.
> 
> This is also the last fic in this set of oneshots. I might repost some of my old multichaptered fics at a later date, but thanks for putting up with me spamming the tag for now.

"It's good to meet with old friends again after so long."

Layton only wished that he could share that sentiment with Aldus. Which wasn't to say that happening across the friendly man hadn't been a nice surprise, but the recent years had brought him little more than misery in regards to being reunited with other old faces. First Randall, then Desmond and most recently Claire... These events had hardly brought only the happiest times for him.

Of course, it was Layton's nature to shelve his worries and carry on. But his shelf had started to become a bit too loaded to bear as of late.

When a few moments went by without any response from the Professor, Aldus pressed on; "I get the impression that whatever's troubling you will take more than just tea to cure."

"Nonsense," replied Layton, as he delicately grasped the handle of his cup, "There's nothing that a good cup of tea won't help soothe."

"I'd like to think so," Aldus doubtfully agreed, "But all the same..."

He reached down into a bag by his seat and retrieved a wooden box. After setting it on table, he pushed the box towards Layton. To anyone else this might have seemed like unusual behaviour, but Layton knew Aldus well enough by now that it would have been more out-of-place if the box hadn't made an appearance at some point.

"What's this?" Layton hummed, mostly because it was expected of him.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" instructed Aldus. He watched Layton through lidded eyes.

Not wanting to disappoint, Layton pulled the lid off Aldus's beloved box. Inside he found many sheets of paper, haphazardly stacked on top of each other and practically bursting out of the top. Each one had notes and diagrams on, with spaces at the bottom seemingly to write answers. They almost looked like the sort of test papers that Layton might give his students.

He took out the first one to check it more thoroughly and once he realised what he was looking at his face broke out into a genuine smile.

"Aldus, you're a devil of a man," he chuckled.

"A good puzzle does wonders to distract the mind," confirmed Aldus, "They might not take away your troubles, but forgetting about them for even a short while can be helpful."

"Thank you," said Layton. And he meant it.

"Think nothing of it, my kindred spirit. Though if you'll excuse me, I should be heading off," Aldus replied. He got up from the table so suddenly that it took Layton by surprise; "As much as it has been nice to catch up, I sadly have errands to run and can't hang around. I do appreciate you taking the time to share a cuppa with me all the same."

"Usually it would be me being the one who's so busy that I have to dash off from you," observed Layton, "I suppose the tides have turned now."

These days he had very little adventures to attend to outside of marking essays and making sure Flora was able to make the most of her life. Though these tasks could prove to be just as challenging as saving London could.

"I do feel it is our fate to never quite have the time for each other," Aldus concluded. His voice sounded almost mournful about this.

"Wait a moment though, you can't leave without your box. Just let me empty these puzzles out of it," Layton insisted.

He got up and took hold of the box, but before he could tip it over, it seemed that Aldus had already reached the door.

"Keep the box. Consider it part of my present," he called.

"But it must mean so much to you! I've never seen you anywhere without it," argued Layton.

"Yes," confirmed Aldus, "It does mean a lot to me."

With that he left Layton feeling slightly confused and more than a little alone. For the first time it was indeed him wishing that Aldus hadn't been too busy to talk. Was this what Aldus had always felt like during their chance meetings? It was a cruel feeling.

But instead of dwelling on it, Layton instead looked down at the puzzle he'd picked out before and felt his mind already whirling to find an answer to it. Aldus was right, this would be a much needed distraction for him. At least enough of distraction to keep him busy until Flora gets home from school. After that he should probably think about getting dinner ready for them both...

A busy life, it seemed, was just what the doctor ordered to help Layton through his troubled times.


End file.
